


Life, lemons, and something like lemonade

by Mei (Ima1)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Aliens Made Them Do It, Captivity, Food Deprivation, Gamora/Tony/Peter is strictly sexual, M/M, Mentions of Skip Westcott, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter is 20+, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Slavery, Starker, possible spoilers ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 115,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ima1/pseuds/Mei
Summary: "It was all purely, laughingly, coincidental. Alien ship hovers over the planet, zaps up random people onto their ship, corrals them into a room to join the other captured aliens.Was this how they knew they’d made it as a planet? Becoming part of the intergalactic slave trade? Somehow, Tony had been hoping for something a bit different. Perhaps less abductions and more fight for your planet type of thing. They’d done it once, they could do it again."*Getting abducted by aliens and sold into slavery — sex slavery, for the cherry on top — is definitely up there with the worst moments of Tony’s life. The fact that Peter is abducted with him takes the whole thing and transcends it into hellish proportions. What comes after, however, might end up becoming some of the best experiences of their lives.Life gave them lemons so they made… well, if not lemonade then certainly something lemonade-adjacent.
Relationships: Main - Relationship, Peter Parker/Tony Stark, because aliens - Relationship, sexual Gamora/Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Comments: 59
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloo, it appears I've gone down a rabbit hole of rare-ish pairs and somehow ended up here. It's a completed story and I'm just finishing up with the editing so I'll be posting regularly. 
> 
> This is set up in a post-Ragnarok world where Thanos took a detour somewhere along the universe and so Infinity Wars doesn't happen as in canon.
> 
> I hope you like it, let me know your thoughts! <3
> 
> P.S. this is Starker but there's a strictly sexual relationship with Gamora mentioned briefly later on because the Grandmaster is an asshole.

Sometimes Tony wonders what his life is even all about. Perhaps something along the lines of long moments of manic inventing sessions intercalated with bouts of world-saving attempts and a hefty dose of depressive self-loathing in between for good measure.

And then there are moments like this.

It’s not enough to be kidnaped by aliens — _aliens_ this time, maybe he should be happy for the upgrade or something — and corralled onto a freaking alien mothership to a distant planet, then sold as a space-gladiator along with the few other miserable souls who showed the physical potential for it.

No. Certainly all that wasn’t enough. Then there was also the dubious honor of being considered too valuable to die in the warrior pits and more interesting as _entertainment_.

Tony wants to vomit. He did vomit, but he wants to do it again. Doesn’t think he’ll stop wanting to at any point in the immediate or long-term future.

No, all that was definitely not bad enough, of course not, because the absolute fucking worse thing that could’ve happened is for Tony to not only have gone through all that alone, but to have done so with a friend by his side. And not just any friend, no, it had to be _Peter_.

Tony’s insides twist and turn and it turns out he still does have it in him to vomit some more. It’s just bile and water at this point, and it burns him from the inside out much like the reality of the situation is doing.

He wipes his mouth on the short sleeve by his shoulder, spares a moment to think _gross_ , and lugs his feet back to his previous spot, letting his back drag against the wall as he slides down to the floor.

His eyes find Peter’s across the room again. The kid looks worried, like he wants to ask Tony if he’s alright but then thinks better of it. Tony is surprised considering the kid can barely go a minute without saying something — but that was before, before aliens zapped them off of a seemingly ordinary patrol mission into their ship, before they were trapped in a glorified mass cage with hundreds of other human and non-human companions, before they were sold to the highest bidder, _before they were told their new job was to fuck each other so people could watch and enjoy themselves_.

Yeah. Before all that. So maybe Tony is not surprised at all that the kid doesn’t have anything to say. That along with the worry in his eyes there’s a near-permanent level of fear. Pure fear. Tony can barely keep himself from going mad with all the thoughts in his own head but seeing the kid’s eyes — pleading, fearful, _hopeful_ , like Tony will still somehow figure out a way to save them — he _can’t_. He just can’t.

Tony closes his eyes, bangs the back of his head against the wall a few times, takes a couple of shuddering breaths. Nothing actually helps, but it does distract him a bit from Peter’s eyes.

Not really, but maybe just a bit if he pretends hard enough.

“Mr Stark?” Petter calls out after a while, voice slightly trembling but much stronger than Tony had been expecting. “You alright?”

Tony snorts despite himself. He cracks open one eye and catches Peter wincing and then blushing.

“Right. Stupid question.”

“Definitely not one of your brightest ones, kid.”

Peter chuckles, and it’s weak and broken and maybe quite a bit forced, but somehow it helps.

“Have I reiterated recently how much this fucking sucks?” Tony asks casually.

Peter hums and Tony opens his other eye because the whole only one eye open thing was getting uncomfortable and probably creepy-looking.

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned it in the past three hours or so. It was probably about time.”

“I aim to please,” Tony says, and then immediately winces because… too close, too damn close.

Peter clears his throat awkwardly, his whole face red, and looks anywhere but towards Tony’s direction. Which is perfectly understandable, Tony wouldn’t look at himself either if he had the option.

Jesus fucking Christ but this was never something he’d ever considered doing in a million years. And now it’s something that he really can’t stop thinking about because they have to, they _have_ to do it. They have been beaten and broken and quite literally starved and were told in no uncertain terms that they could either do this or forget about ever getting out of this room alive, so. Yeah, they have to do this. As in, preferably soonish. Right now even. Might be great for their foreseeable living situation.

Tony wants to curse, to scream and shout and yell and rage and any and all possible synonyms to those actions. Wants to rip his hair out in despair and wants to rip the fucking Grandmaster’s eyeballs out with his bare hands and feed them to him, but… He’s exhausted.

They’ve been away from home for fifty-seven days and they’ve been stuck in this small room for six, which is, non-coincidentally, the last time they ate.

Who knew Tony would miss his first captors’ hospitality, alien prison grub that it had been?

Tony feels weak and tired and so, so hungry. He’s lost a lot of weight, knows he doesn’t make a pretty picture at all. The kid looks even skinnier than before. Well, skinnier than Tony thought he was because he’d never seen him without a shirt on before. Since their lucky abduction he has, and Peter was actually deceptively muscular, in a lean sort of way.

Now it’s all practically gone, his high metabolism consuming energy at a faster pace than advisable. Tony wonders if anything about the spider mutation will eventually go like, hey dude, how about we chill down for a bit and stop trying to eat ourselves from the inside out? So far it doesn’t seem to be the case.

Tony had given the kid a good portion of his every meal, intent on keeping him fed and strong and _alive,_ despite Peter’s protests. It had worked, marginally, but now that the only thing they’ve consumed for almost a week has been bathroom water, his efforts have gone unnoticed.

Or not, maybe Peter would’ve passed out long ago, but Tony doesn’t actually think that’s a happy thing to ponder about.

So yeah, they can’t put it off anymore, not if they want to have a chance to keep breathing in the immediate future. Both of them can be stubborn mules when they want to — which is most of the time, actually — and they’ve held on long enough, but Tony literally can’t stomach the thought of seeing Peter wither away in front of his eyes, so it’s time to man up.

Of course, he also can’t stomach the thought of doing what they have to do, so.

He’ll just have to get over himself. He has to. Peter fucking needs him to, he needs food and he needs food now, and Tony cannot have one more thing in his conscience.

He closes his eyes one more time, takes a deep, semi-steadying breath, and then walks the great trek across the room towards Peter’s side.

It’s not a big room, by any means, and especially not by Tony Stark’s means. A semi-circle with a double bed in the center, a little table with two chairs by the one side near the door, on the other side there’s the bathroom. Well, more like a toilet, a sink, and a shower separated by a half-wall. Tony’s not sure something without a door can be considered a room.

Still, it’s certainly small, and Tony has claimed the side with the table while Peter has claimed the side with the shower place, and the big beg stands in the middle of the minefield that is about to become their whole relationship.

The walk over to Peter feels like it takes an eternity. Peter looks him in the eye all the way and doesn’t let up once, brave and fearful all in one. Tony admires the heck out of him for that.

Tony sits down facing him, leaning his back on the bed frame, and decides to just dive straight in. Headfirst into a possibly empty pool.

He’s done worse, he tells himself. Flying off into a wormhole while carrying a nuke in his arms, for once. Somehow, this right now seems much more daunting.

“So, we should probably do this at some point, right? Rip the old bandaid off and all that jazz. I could definitely do with some more alien grub.”

His joke falls a bit flat but he doesn’t think he can be blamed for that when his whole body is trembling with dread.

But Peter, bless him, lets out a weak little laugh and then quirks his lips wryly. “Yeah… yeah, I could eat.”

“Good. Good.” Tony nods, his head bobbing up and down a bit more than recommended for casualness sake, then asks very nonchalantly, “So, you ever do this before?”

“Have sex with my mentor on an alien planet or become a porn star?” Peter deadpans.

Tony snorts. Damn the kid’s sass. “The first one. Well, just the sex part, actually, 'cause I’m pretty sure I’d remember if we’d done the whole thing…” He waves his hand around towards the bed when words fail him. His hand falls back in his lap and his voice turns serious and a little bit pleading and he can’t look him in the eye when he says, “Please tell me you’re not a virgin, k— Peter.”

Peter. _Peter_. His name is Peter and Tony has to stop calling him kid or Underoos or Spider-boy or any of the many other nicknames teasing his age. He has to. He can’t call him kid in the same sentence he asks him if he’s a fucking virgin, that’s not remotely okay for his sanity. And he certainly can’t keep thinking of him as a kid when he needs to get him naked and just— Nope. Definitely not going there.

Peter, Peter, _Peter_.

Tony chances a glance up and Peter’s cheeks are tinted pink and his voice is clearly embarrassed, but there’s a quiet strength in his tone as he says, “I’m not, Mr Stark. You won’t be defiling me or anything.”

“Good.” Tony nods — to himself, to Peter, to the little Pepper-voice in his head which he’s long since come to associate with his flimsy conscience. “That’s… that’s good. Great. So who’s the lucky lady? Or gentleman? Or both, at the same time? That’d be a spectacular way to go for a first.”

Peter raises a very unimpressed brow at him and wow, okay, Tony’s really being out-sassed here. “Is this really what you wanna talk about before we…”

“Honestly? Yup, I would absolutely prefer to talk about all our sexual exploits rather than be forced into prostitution,” he counters with a wry twist of his lips. “Or is it just plain old sex slave labor since neither of us is getting paid? Now that’s a question I never thought I’d ask.”

Peter sighs. “Mr. Stark—”

“Tony. If I— if we do this, then you really have to cut it with the Mr. Stark thing ‘cause I can’t— Just, please. Tony.”

He can’t, he really truly can’t handle it if the k— if _Peter_ keeps calling him Mr. Stark all eager and polite and hero-worshiping like… like _before_. This is nothing like before, nothing will ever be like before ever again after they do this. And they have to, so… Yeah, no.

“Tony,” Peter acquiesces, tasting out the word. He literally makes a face as if the name leaves a funny taste in his mouth. Tony tries not to take it too personally. “Yeah that’s never not gonna be weird. But alright. Tony, let’s just…”

“Get it over with, gotcha.” Tony finger guns him. Honest to god finger guns another human being. What the fuck is wrong with him. Did he lose his coolness along with his freedom? Not giving himself enough time to berate his idiocy, he jumps to his feet and claps his hands. “Alrighty then, top or bottom?”

Peter splutters. Tony steamrolls right through his shock. In for a penny, in for the whole fucking piggy bank.

“‘Cause I personally dig the whole vers thing way more, to tell you the truth, but it’s up to you. To each their own ‘insert dick here’ preferences.”

Peter coughs, clears his throat, gets up slowly. Tony keeps watching him, head tilted, fingers drumming rapidly over his thigh, and tries not to think that it’s actually cute the way Peter goes all flustered because that’s just all kinds of wrong.

“Right, uh, right. Well, I’ve never actually… I didn’t get that far? With a guy? Just the one girl really, all the way, I mean, and then just a…” He makes hand job motion, voice breaking, “With a guy so… I, uh, I dunno?”

Tony nods, tries not to show the drop of guilt that falls into the seemingly endless pit he already has in his stomach.

It’s not too bad, right? He’s not completely deflowering the ki— Peter, _fuck_ — he’s not taking away his innocence or any of the other metaphors that could apply to this situation. He’s… yeah, no, still doesn’t make him feel any better about the whole thing.

Somehow, that thought pops out unbidden.

“Guy-virgin, gotcha. Well, I was seriously hoping that wasn’t the case, not gonna lie, but at least you’re not a complete virgin so I don’t feel like a total perv. Just about 99.9%.”

Tony smiles bright and absolutely fake and looks anywhere but at Peter.

He can do this. He can absolutely do this. He’s fucked plenty of people before. Plenty. Too many, even, probably, if there is such a thing. And a few of them were even virgins and he hadn’t particularly cared about it besides showing them a good time like he did with anyone else he shared his bed — and other surfaces — with.

So it’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. He can totally do this. All he has to do is think about it as another random hookup and they’ll be fine. Great even. If there’s one thing Tony’s good at it’s sex so, it’ll be great. With Peter. Sex with Peter. Whom he met when the kid was fifteen-years-old and had the biggest case of hero-worshiping ever and—

_Fuck_.

He can’t do it. He literally cannot make himself do it.

“Mr.— Tony. _Tony,_ ” Peter calls, finally catching Tony’s attention by holding Tony’s chin in his strong grip and forcing him to face Peter. Damn, he’s strong.

Tony reluctantly, fearfully, looks into Peter’s eyes. He’s expecting disgust, a good dose of hatred, a healthy amount of blame — instead, there’s a fierceness to Peter’s eyes that Tony has rarely had the opportunity to see.

Oh, he knows Peter has it in him. He knows how strong he is, not just physically, but as the youngest member of their little merry band of misfits, it’s easy to become the young sidekick, funny and lively and sassy. Essential, but not a leader. Tony knows better, knows the potential he has, has been giving him more and more opportunities to let those skills shine, has tried to give him tools, teach him some tricks to deal with the world’s bullshit. He knows Peter can be a force of nature. He’s just never had it directed _at_ _him_.

“You’re not, alright? You’re _not_ , Tony,” Peter says more vehemently when Tony goes to protest. “You’re not a perv, you’re not a creep, you don’t come even close, okay? You don’t have a choice, neither of us has a choice.”

Peter looks down, apparently lost in thought. Tony doesn’t dare break the moment with a wisecrack so he just waits. Dreading.

“And besides, I’m twenty so, totally not a perv,” Petter adds with a lightness that seems just a tad too forced. Tony somehow knows that wasn’t what he was gonna say but he lets it go.

“Yeah and I’m _definitely_ not twenty, or even in my forties anymore, so. Kind of pervy, kid.”

Tony winces. Peter winces. They both look like they wish they could erase the last sentence.

Peter groans. “Tony.”

“Heard it as soon as I said it, yeah,” Tony says apologetically. “I’m trying, Pete, it’s just… habit.”

Fucking bad habit he wishes he could kick in the ass like, yesterday. Or even a year ago, actually.

Peter softens, gives him an understanding look. “I know. I know you don’t mean it like that. I’m still struggling with not calling you Mr. Stark, so… I guess we can have a few free passes.”

“Well, you can call me Mr. Stark as long as it’s in a kinky way.” Tony winces again, blames his stupid flirtatious genes which always choose the most inappropriate times. Peter, thankfully, just gives him an eye roll. “I’m joking! Seriously, just kidding.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark.”

Wow. Okay then. Peter can apparently go straight from fumbling with words about the whole sex thing to actually flirting. Tony is not sure what to do with that information, only that his brain is caught in a bizarre mix of horror and appreciation. The first for obvious reasons, the last because, hey, if they do have to do this — which they do, truly, at some point they will really have to get on with that — then it might as well not be completely horrible. And flirting, yeah, Tony can work with flirting.

Tony catches Peter’s gaze, finds it apprehensive but determined, even a bit challenging, and decides to hell with it. He takes a small step forward, the distance between them already past the personal bubble level of comfort and now gone into full-on negligible.

Peter’s breath hitches.

Tony asks, “This okay?” and gets a firm nod in response. Then he drops all thoughts from his head and lets his body speak.

Peter is trembling a bit, just the slightest wavering running through his whole frame, but Tony cups his cheek and that seems to ground him, to strengthen him. Their eyes never leave each other’s and Tony can track the minute Peter loses all traces of apprehension and decides to go for it with steely resolve.

Peter’s lips are soft, warm, his tongue playful and surprisingly proficient. Tony can’t pint point it exactly, but he thinks this might be the moment he truly stops thinking of him as a kid.

This is how a man kisses, a man with experience and confidence and Tony is oh so glad for that because that is one less thing to darken his conscience.

Oh, it’s still wrong, of course. There are so many levels of wrong in this that Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to feel right again — least of all because he actually _enjoys_ the kiss. Peter is skillful and playful and passionate and Tony kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, shows him just how much _he_ can give.

It’s good, Tony thinks. It’s good that they can enjoy themselves in the middle of this horrible, horrible situation. If nothing else, at least they can have a good time. Or a not so bad time, even. That’d be neat.

He can do this. He can. He can think about this as any other hook up and enjoy the way Peter’s tongue feels on his, soft and wet and teasing, the way Peter’s body is warm, no longer shaking with nerves but more with anticipation, how he’s lean — too lean, his guilt reminds him — but still strong and steady and clearly into it.

Yeah, he can do this. He _is_ doing this. Go him.

Peter moans when Tony’s hand holds his waist firmly, moans again when it goes down to his ass, squeezing just hard enough. Gasps when Tony slots a leg between his, when he gives a little twist to his hips right by his crotch.

_Tony_ moans when he feels how hard Peter is. Already. Fuck, that’s hot. He really hasn’t been with someone so young in a long, long time, he’d forgotten how quickly they can go from zero to ready.

Hasn’t been that young himself in a while either, which is a slightly more depressing reminder that he quickly pushes away.

Tony does it again, and again and again, keeps rotating his pelvis just so, just enough to be teasing, to keep pulling those sounds out of Peter.

Peter, damn him, kisses him back like there’s no tomorrow, bites his lips and sucks his tongue and then moves down his jaw and neck, and that tongue and those lips…

“Jesus.”

Peter chuckles, mutters, “Payback,” just behind his ear, and then bites his earlobe too hard to be considered a nibble. Tony moans again, even louder this time.

Fuck. He had no idea Peter had it in him. Tony is hard before he knows it.

It surprises him, actually. Logically, intellectually, he knew it would happen. Stick his horny self with an attractive person in a room and tell them to fuck and yeah, chances were pretty high that Tony would respond accordingly — even with the various not-at-all-hidden cameras and the very real threat of starvation. But it’s _Peter_. Peter whom he watched grow up and has never ever thought about in that way. _Never_. Tony didn’t even tease him about dates or anything, that’s how much he never wanted to think about Peter in a sexual context.

And yet here they are, trading passionate kisses and rubbing hard cocks against each other and— fuck. He honestly never thought he would get to this point, never thought he’d be able to get past the literal physical sickness the thought evoked in him.

But he did. Somehow he did. And it’s not… it’s not terrible. It’s actually quite the opposite of terrible and that is… Well. Tony prefers to put that thought aside for now and return to it never or he won’t actually make it through.

Peter’s hands go lower down Tony’s body, touching everything in their path until they find the hem of Tony’s dress-thing — “It’s a robe, Mr. Stark,” Peter had said when they’d been divested of the rags that had replaced their suits once they got literally bought by whoever the Grandmaster is. “Totally unisex. Like a tunic, even.” Tony had not been convinced. It was a dress, they were wearing alien dresses with no underwear beneath them and, of all the horrible things in this whole situation, the dress was far from being one. Heck, his junk hadn’t felt so free and comfortable in ages.

Tony’s naked in the span of a few seconds and he catches Peter’s gaze on his body, a hungry look he hadn’t been expecting at all.

Tony’s fit. He does have to keep up with the demands of being Iron Man and he enjoys keeping his body in shape, but still… He hadn’t been expecting the naked appreciation from Peter. And besides, he’s quite sure his ribs are showing these days.

But Peter doesn’t seem to be bothered at all. In fact, his hand comes up to touch Tony’s chest, seemingly unthinking, and Peter’s lower lip gets trapped beneath his teeth as his eyes roam over Tony’s body.

It’s extremely flattering — if he doesn’t let himself think too much about whose eyes are ravaging his naked body.

Peter’s tunic goes next and Tony very studiously does his best to only look where he needs to and to not linger. He’s mostly successful.

Peter pulls them towards the bed. It’s not far at all, it’s two steps and a tumble, but Tony falls on top of him, breathing erratic, and Peter’s eyes are big, pupils dilated, lips parted — and they’re actually doing this. The two of them. Together.

Tony shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of his last compunctions. Peter smiles at him fondly, raises a hand to Tony’s hair in a jarringly gentle motion, and Tony freezes, practically gaping.

“It’s alright, Tony. It really is.”

And his voice is so soft, so earnest that Tony doesn’t know what to do with it. The passionate making out he could do, the ignoring who exactly he was making out with was a must, but this? Gentle and caring and just— _words_? In that tone and with that look… Tony doesn’t think he has it in him to deal with that.

But Peter doesn’t care, says, “If it had to be anyone — not that I’d ever thought of being kidnaped by aliens in the middle of Brooklyn and then sold off as a sex slave — but if it had to be anyone else, then I’m glad it’s you.”

“Peter…”

Peter shrugs as much as the position allows and gives him a little self-deprecating smile. “It’s fine, Tony. I mean, obviously it’s _not_ , it’s the furthest thing from fine, probably, but… It’s alright, you know? That it’s you, that you’re with me.”

Tony blinks rapidly, determined not to let any emotion flow out of his eyes, and Peter’s smile softens even further. Tony didn’t think that was possible and yet there it is, the most gentle smile Tony’s ever been faced with when about to fuck a twenty-year-old man who he’s always thought of as family.

_Not_ a son. Tony’s never let himself think of Peter like that. Peter deserves the best and Tony was never the best. Tony is the guy who went to fetch a fifteen-year-old kid and take him to Germany to fight his ex-teammates. Tony is the guy who gave the kid suits and upgrades and all but pushed him out the door into the superhero business.

And alright, he knows it’s not exactly like that, knows that Peter would’ve done it regardless, that Tony made it safer for him, or tried to, but still. He was never father material — hell, he was barely mentor material.

But family… He’s thought of Peter as family for a long time and he knows Peter feels the same and this… is all kinds of fucked up. It’s so wrong that there are just no words to properly express how Tony feels.

Peter shouldn’t be saying that it’s alright, that it’s fine. It’s the fucking furthest thing from alright. Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be alright, that _they_ will ever be alright. But he knows for sure that they won’t if they don’t do this, so.

He kisses Peter. Disconnects, finally and truly, from himself. It’s like his body is doing one thing, following its instincts, but Tony’s mind is elsewhere, away, just— fucking not here. Not doing this to Peter.

Peter kisses back, soft at first, then more urgently, seemingly in the same wavelength as Tony. Tony lets his tongue play around for a bit, then moves on to biting and kissing and licking his way down Peter’s body. Not too fast, slow enough to put on the show they’re being forced to star in, but fast enough so that he can continue not thinking.

Peter is practically hairless, too thin, too pale. Tony kisses him everywhere, promises him with every silent kiss that he’ll fix this, that he’ll get Peter out. He has to, there can’t be a world where he doesn’t.

He takes Peter’s cock in his mouth without much teasing, licks him and sucks him and enjoys it. Enjoys the feel of him, enjoys the taste, the way Peter gasps and moans and fucks mindlessly into his mouth. Peter pulls on Tony’s hair and Tony moans, the vibrations making Peter buck up uncontrollably. Tony sucks him all in, lets his body feel, follows his every instinct with absolute mindlessness.

He feels Peter coming and pulls him out, switches to just his hand, watches as he comes all over his stomach. Peter is breathless and flushed and wide-eyed and looks entirely debauched. Tony is glad.

It’s good, right? He wanted this, he wanted them to at least enjoy it. This is good.

Tony uses Peter’s come to stretch himself open. Peter’s eyes go wide, his mouth gaping in shock. His face burning with desire. Tony smirks, sinks one finger in, then two. It’s been a while. Years, actually. But he has age and experience on his side and it’s not too long until he’s comfortable.

“When the aliens don’t give you lube, right?”

Peter bobs his head up and down but his eyes never leave Tony’s hands, following his every move. He’s hard again, so soon that Tony’s quite sure there’s some spider metabolism involved in that, too. Or else it’s been so long Tony doesn’t remember what being that young is like. Which is a depressing thought so of course he chooses option number one.

Peter tracks his every move as Tony takes him in his hand, coats his dick with his own come, adjusts himself just right. Then, he sinks down on Peter’s cock, slowly, just the tip at first, for long enough that he stops feeling the burn and starts feeling the need. When he sinks all the way down Peter gasps so loudly Tony thinks he might run out of breath.

It’s a confidence boost for sure, it’s not every day a man his age can say they pull that kind of reaction out of a twenty-year-old. It’s just best not to dwell on who exactly that twenty-year-old is. Who exactly is inside him right now.

Tony lets his eyes flutter shut, lets himself _feel_. Feel the pleasant burn, the sensation of being filled, feel the way Peter’s cock hits just the right spot if Tony moves just so. Feel the way Peter’s hands travel over his body, needy, greedy — reverent almost, if he dares call it that. Feel the way Peter touches Tony’s cock, softly, hesitantly, then more confident when Tony’s appreciation leaves his lips unbidden. Feel the wetness, saliva most likely, help Peter’s hand slip up and down Tony’s dick, then twist and press just right.

Tony’s hands fall forward, he catches himself on Peter’s stomach and keeps going, keeps moving, keeps alternating between gyrating his hips and driving them up and down, always trying to elicit a reaction out of Peter, always chasing that pleasure.

His eyes stay closed but he feels— _everything_ , his body on fire, Peter’s cock hitting him perfectly, Peter’s hand on his own cock, so tight, so determined. He hears Peter, hears the moans and the gasps and the groans and the, “Oh god, oh god, Tony. Fuck, that’s so good, you’re so good. Fuck, Tony. That’s it, that’s it, come on, come for me.”

Tony does. He doesn’t even have to think about it, his body has been riding the high for so long that he finally reaches the peak and crashes, Peter right there to catch him. Peter comes too, straight after, and Tony squeezes tight enough to make him groan loudly, make him swear and his words come out in short bursts until they’re senseless, until all he can say is “Tony, fuck, Tony, that’s— Tony— Yes.”

Tony Tony _Tony_.

Tony likes it, of course, likes hearing his name from his lovers’ lips, apparently regardless of who his lovers are.

He doesn’t open his eyes until Peter has stoped shaking inside of him. When he does, Peter’s eyes are fluttering in pleasure, his lips parted, cheeks flushed. He looks absolutely fucked out of his brains — and Tony feels _proud_. 

And then he remembers that he shouldn’t. That this is _Peter_ , Peter who he’s done all these things with and—

There was a reason he’d closed his eyes. It was easier, then, to get lost in his body, to not have to focus on just what — or better, whom — he was doing.

But Peter smiles, pleasantly pliant, and Tony slides off him slowly and falls next to him on the bed and perhaps… perhaps he’s allowed not to feel so bad. Maybe just for a while, maybe only for a few, blissful minutes he can pretend it’s alright. Pretend he didn’t just break one of the last few pure things in his life.

Tony’s breath evens out eventually, and when his heart isn’t beating in his ears anymore, he can hear Peter breathing in and out, louder than usual. It’s comforting, Tony thinks, relaxing somehow.

He could almost fall asleep if it wasn’t for the massive guilt he’s feeling after the orgasmic bliss is gone and reality crashes the party.

“Was…” Tony clears his throat, maintains his gaze steadfastly on the ceiling even when Peter turns to face him. He tries again. “Was that alright?”

He’s a masochist, right? He has to be. Or maybe he just wants proof, wants to rip off the bandaid and hear once and for all just how royally he screwed everything up.

The ceiling is not actually the best place to be focusing on, of course, what with the five cameras all angled at them, but it beats facing Peter anytime.

So, obviously, he’s a masochist as well as a coward. Well, at least he’s honest with himself.

Peter’s face is still turned to him and it feels like he’s willing Tony to look at him, which is so not happening. Peter turns on his side, raises his head up on his bent right arm, places his left hand right on Tony’s scar, exactly where the arc reactor used to be.

“You’re the most caring person I know, Tony. It was definitely more than alright.”

Tony blinks rapidly, clears his throat, does a piss-poor job of containing the flow of emotion that threatens to succumb him. He bends his right arm over his face, closes his eyes, tries to press them as hard as he can so he won’t break down… and fails at that too.

Tony cries silently, he’s always cried silently. Men aren’t supposed to cry, right? Stark men least of all. Stark men are made of steel and steel doesn’t break for anyone and so Tony learned from a very young age to suppress his tears and, when that inevitably fails, to make as little a mess as he possibly can. Of course, as with anything in life he put his mind to, he succeeded with that too.

Tony cries but only tears fall out of the corners of his closed eyes, the rest of his body remains obediently still. Completely still. Tony has hope, but he’s not dumb enough to think Peter doesn’t notice. Still, he’s nice enough about it if he does notice because Peter simply lets him be, keeps that warm hand right where it is, and just… stays.

Tony doesn’t know for how long he cries but he does eventually manage to get his tears under control and lock his sorrow so deep inside he might never find the key again.

When he knows his voice will be back to normal he says, face still hidden, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Stark men don’t apologize either. Tony supposes he’s broken two rules in less than an hour and deliriously wonders if his father will find a way to revoke Tony’s Stark-ness from the grave. If anyone can, it would probably be dear old dad.

But he needs to say it, he needs so badly to tell Peter just how sorry he is, how much he regrets getting them in this situation — he could have stopped it, right? He could have told Peter to go home to his aunt while Tony patrolled alone, he could’ve done a better job of keeping their suits, he could’ve tried harder to find a way to escape the ship, escape the prison, escape the planet, escape this room.

There are no words that can sufficiently express that, though, so Tony settles for sorry with all the emotion he can muster into such a completely unsuitable word and hopes that one day, maybe, if he’s unbelievably lucky, Peter will find it in himself to not hate him so much. Maybe.

That would make one of them, at least.

Peter’s hand tightens on his chest, his fingers digging in to the edge of pain, but Tony doesn’t say anything because he deserves it, he deserves anything that Peter might do to him.

But Peter doesn’t take it further, doesn’t hurt him. Instead he says, “Tony, look at me. _Tony_.”

Tony shakes his head. He can’t, he doesn’t think he ever will be able to again, but Peter doesn’t care, it seems. He pulls Tony’s arm off his face with surprising gentleness and then, for some inconceivable reason, puts his hand on Tony’s cheek.

Not a slap. The exact opposite of a slap, in fact. Tony’s mind is boggled.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You hear me? Absolutely nothing. None of this is your fault, not even one little thing. I mean it, Tony,” he says, forcefully, even, voice unbreakable when Tony tries to argue. “I _mean_ it. Don’t you dare apologize to me again.”

“Peter—”

“Nope. Not having any of it. Not any of the self-loathing or the guilt or any of it.” Tony wonders if he’s completely obvious or if Peter just knows him. Peter clears that right up all by himself. “I know you, remember,” he says with a fond smile. “I know all about your idiotic tendencies and I’m not letting you do that to yourself again. Or to me.” Peter’s smile turns tentatively teasing. “Do you know what that does to a guy’s ego? Having an absolutely mind-blowing orgasm and then the other person starts crying?”

Tony chuckles despite himself. It’s weak and a bit wet but it brings a real smile to Peter’s lips. “I actually do know, been there done that. Usually, after they realize they’ve just cheated on their significant other with someone who doesn’t care for more than a one-night thing, but…”

Peter rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course, how could I forget your prolific youth.”

“Hey, no slut-shaming.”

Peter raises his hand appeasingly, teasing smirk all over his stupid face. “No slut-shaming from me. MJ would kill me if she heard.”

“I like her, she’s bossy.”

“You have a thing for bossy women.”

Tony tilts his head in thought and then nods sagely. “I really do.”

Peter smiles and brings his hand right back to Tony’s face, soft fingertips running smoothly over his cheekbones and forehead in a seemingly mindless pattern.

Tony’s breath shudders and he hesitantly grasps Peter’s wrist, softly, not wanting to stop him, just to… touch him.

“You don’t hate me?” He’s pathetic, absolutely loathsome, but he can’t stop the question coming out of his mouth in whispered words.

Petter sighs, smiles at him sadly, shakes his head. “Not even a little bit. I can’t imagine anything you’d do that would make me hate you.”

“I can.”

“Not anything _you’d_ do, I said. ‘Cause you’d never do one of those horrible things.” A flash of something dark crosses Peter’s face but it’s gone in the next beat.

“This—” Tony tries, but Peter cuts him off.

“ _This_ is not your fault. This is not one of those horrible things, Tony. It’s just not. It doesn’t even come close.”

“Peter, we literally just had sex because otherwise we’d starve to death.”

“Yeah, and again. Not. your. fault.”

Tony looks at him pleadingly, for once at a loss for better words than, “Peter, I… You…”

Peter nods, a small, sad sigh leaving his lips. “I know, Tony. I know. Trust me, I know. We’re not… we would’ve never, right? Not even come close to thinking about it.” Tony shakes his head vehemently, begging him to understand. “Yeah. I know. It’s… it’s certainly not ideal.”

Tony snorts and Peter gives him a cheeky smile. “That might be the understatement of the century, Pete.”

“Probably. Do I get points or something?”

“Tell you what, when we get home I’ll make you a crown.”

Peter lets out a laugh, then his eyes twinge sadly. Tony’s heart clenches, the previously outshined imprisonment situation coming back to the surface.

“Yeah, definitely not an ideal situation by any means,” Tony agrees.

Peter sighs, leans down with his head on Tony’s chest as if it’s something natural, something they _do_. Tony feels a pang in his heart but somehow breathes out easier with the contact.

“Fucking aliens and their fucking sick and twisted minds,” Peter says, surprising Tony with the viciousness.

“Amen, sister.”

Peter snorts and pokes him in the ribs. “That makes it even creepier, Tony.”

Which, fair point. “Amen, brother?”

Peter’s fingers dig even deeper now and Tony laughs at the absurdity of it all. But hey, at least he can make stupid and awkward jokes now. Progress, or something.

“You’re the worst.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I thought I did quite alright just now. I did make you come twice.”

Peter groans into his skin loud enough that the sound is barely muffled.

“I knew you’d be insufferable.”

“Hey, you don’t get to take this from me, I won it fair and square. Surrender to my superior skills.”

“I’d make it a competition but I’m sure your old age won’t allow you to come twice in such a short time, amirite?”

Tony gasps in outrage and swats Peter’s ass playfully. “Is that how we’re playing it, then? ‘Cause let me tell you, my old age and _experience_ could teach you quite a few things. Oh wait, I just did.”

Peter laughs heartily into Tony’s chest and Tony smiles fondly, fingers absently tickling Peter’s ass where his hand had somehow decided to stay.

“Yeah, yeah. You win this round, old man. Just you wait until I leach you for all your knowledge and turn it back on you.”

“My, my, how the apprentice turns on his master.”

“Don’t even try, you’ll be all proud.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure will,” Tony says, smile contracting into something more somber. He kisses Peter’s head without thinking, catches himself coming back from it but it’s too late. “I’m always proud of you, Pete.”

Peter wraps his arm around Tony’s chest and holds him tight, face still hidden.

“Thank you. For everything really, but… for this. I’m glad it was you, Tony.”

Tony can’t say anything after that, just holds him as close as he dares and does his best to not let his mind think too much about what just happened.

* * *

Food comes that evening and it’s the most wonderful feast Tony has ever been served. It’s a plate full of alien food, all exuberant colors and strange textures, and Tony devours it all, uncaring of its mysterious origins, his once-certain reticence towards all foods unknown long gone.

Peter is way ahead of him, moaning in delight and scarfing everything down like a starving man — which they both actually are — and Tony smiles through his mouthful at the sight.

It was worth it, he assures himself. Even if they might never recover their relationship after this is over — _if_ , a fearful part of his brain whispers, _if_ it’s ever over — at least the sacrifice was worth it to see Peter’s joy at getting some sustenance in his too-slim body.

How the mighty have truly fallen, Tony muses sadly, to be content by such miserable things.

He pushes his plate towards Peter to let him have the last few bites, his shrunken stomach already too full and wanting Peter to get all the food his body is craving. Peter smiles at him gratefully, doesn’t even complain about the perceived unfairness of it. Tony is secretly glad his long sermon on the alien ship to a doe-eyed Peter about survivor instincts versus social niceties is still holding some sway.

Tony leans back and his eyes fall shut of their own accord, food coma properly set in. He’s never liked the feeling, has always hated anything that made his brain too sluggish — one might think alcohol would follow those same rules and one would be wrong. Alcohol for Tony was the escape _precisely because_ it made him not think so much, made everything duller, his emotions more muted. But it was _his_ choice. When his brain was rapid-firing in all the wrong directions, obsessing over every minute detail, every lost opportunity, a good glass — or three or five — of whiskey would be just what he needed.

He’s learned to cope better, since. Acknowledged his problem and all that, learned new coping mechanisms, blah, blah, his therapist, Pepper, Rhodey — hell, everyone would be proud.

So yeah, Tony doesn’t like getting too full, doesn’t like the compulsive drowsiness that comes with it, especially as he gets older, but, for once, he welcomes the feeling.

He’d also never truly been hungry, had never known what it was like to starve. Afghanistan was bad for lots of reasons but even if the food was shitty, it was there. The past fifty-seven days have been a true lesson in coping with hunger. Tony thinks he might never again say he doesn’t like being full. FRIDAY will probably be happy for him; she keeps pestering him about proper meal times, unlike JARVIS who had pretty quickly learned it was useless.

Tony sighs. He misses FRIDAY. He misses his bots, his friends, his _life_. They really need to figure out a way out of this.

Food was a good first step. Maybe now that their brains have some actual fuel they’ll be more triumphant in figuring out an escape.

Tony taps his fingers to his full belly, amused that there’s an actual bump there. Then not so amused because that reveals just how thin he is, but he quickly pushes that to the side.

Alright, alright. Plans.

Not many, to be perfectly honest.

They’d tried the hole escape routine on the ship and failed miserably, their attempt at a mutiny absurdly easily squashed. Once they’d landed on Sakaar, there hadn’t been much to see. They were dragged along to a big room full of garish colors and strange-looking aliens and then separated into two groups. Tony and Peter had had the dubious honor of being considered too attractive to waste in the pits — funnily enough, not one of the times Tony had appreciated a compliment. Apparently, the Grandmaster was trying out some new business endeavors. 

He wonders if the pits wouldn’t have been better after all.

Anyways. Then they’d been brought to this room and that was it, no word from anyone since. Their food came through a latch on the door, whoever deposited it either completely uncaring of their attempts to talk or unable to understand them. Tony’s betting on the first — for some reason most of the aliens seem to be able to understand them and communicate just fine.

Tony hears them speak English, which is obviously impossible.He and Peter have a bet going on whether it’s some kind of All-speak like the Asgardians have, or alien tech, a universal translator type of thing. Tony is betting on the latter because he’s a tech guy; Peter is all for the magic in this case. Tony will gladly pay Peter’s hotdog habit for the rest of his life if it means they get out of here at some point. Sooner would be nice.

Right. Sluggish brain, refocus.

The door is the obvious way out seeing as it’s the only thing that opens to the outside. Or opens, period. The rest of the room is just one semicircular wall, completely seamless. No windows, no hidden compartment, no mysteriously convenient latches. They’ve been counting the days based on the lights-out schedule, but how are they supposed to know if the aliens don’t get a weird kick out of messing with their sleep schedules?

The problem is the door works on a pressure latch that obviously opens only from the outside and the food partition is only as big as their tray. It’s also way too strong for Peter to kick his way out, they’d tried that the first day already.

Well, actually, the real problem is that they have no tools, no weapons, no suits — no chance.

Tony sighs.

Peter touches his knee and Tony almost jerks out of his chair.

Peter looks at him sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes at himself. “Food coma.”

“Pretty sure it’s called old age.”

Tony glares at Peter’s teasing grin. “I’ll have you know I’m at my prime.”

“Sure you are, Tony.”

Tony dips his fingers in his water cup and flicks them at Peter. The little shit just laughs as if he’s having the greatest time of his life.

Tony catches that laugh like a punch to the gut and just… stares. He must look like a right fool just looking at Peter with wonder probably pouring out of his eyeballs, but he hasn’t seen him laugh like that in… gosh. Too long. Probably as long as it’s been since they’ve been gone from Earth.

Peter’s laugh trails off and he looks at Tony questioningly, a blush starting on his cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… nice.” There aren’t words that can properly express what he’s feeling so he doesn’t bother trying. It wouldn’t feel right.

“Being called an old man?” Peter raises a challenging eyebrow.

Tony smirks. “Sure thing, kid.”

Peter groans. “You promised, Tony.”

“I promised I’d try, and right now you don’t make me wanna try,” Tony quips, but the truth is that it had just come naturally, part of their usual banter, and Tony wanted to curse himself as soon as the word left his mouth.

It’s a learning curve, he’ll get there eventually. He hopes.

Peter’s sole reply is an emphatic roll of his eyes but his smile is fond.

Peter gets up, stretches languidly, and heads to the bathroom. Tony averts his eyes like always, but the illusion of privacy is more than a mockery at this point. After six days of captivity in this room, they’ve both learned to lose whatever pesky notions of privacy they still had left.

Tony would never have thought that having to do his business in front of an audience would somehow not be the worse thing he’d have to put up with in this room, but that’s life for you.

When Peter’s done, Tony follows suit, then joins Peter on the bed with a heavy sigh. They lie on their sides, facing each other. Peter has a soft smile on his lips and a softer look on his eyes and Tony can’t help but return the sentiment.

“How’re you feeling?” It comes out as a whisper, his voice suddenly unable to make more sound than that.

Peter smiles at him with sleepy eyes. “Good. Not hungry for once.”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea what we just ate, though. I really hope it wasn’t some version of an alien rat.”

Tony snorts with only the smallest tinge of hysteria. “If it is, I’ll gladly stay ignorant. Maybe alien rat is some type of delicacy ‘cause I think that was the most amazing food I’ve had in a long time.”

Peter bobs his head up and down. “So good. You think we’ll get some more tomorrow?”

Tony tries not to lose his smile as the inevitable end of their inane conversation comes.

“If we give them what they want. If we… _perform.”_ The word leaves a sick taste in his mouth and Tony struggles to keep a pleasant face when forced to face their reality. This is it from now on though, this is exactly what they’ve been literally bought to do. Perform for an invisible audience in return for their lives. His mouth quirks with automatic distance but he says, “I’m pretty sure that’s the deal.”

Peter makes a face at that, his thoughts on their current situation very clear. “Fucking creeps.”

Tony tuts mockingly, desperately clinging to anything that will allow him to ignore their reality for just a bit longer.

“Such language, Mr. Parker. Be glad Cap isn’t here.”

Peter snorts. “Oh, believe me, I’m very glad he’s not. I think I’d still be starving if he were.”

Tony gasps and puts a theatrical hand to his chest, firmly determined to hide the uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought. “Are you saying I’m easy?”

Peter flicks his nose. Tony is so surprised that he just blinks half a dozen times.

“I’m saying I’m very glad it’s you. And I wouldn’t call six days easy,” he adds, with a certain pointedness that makes Tony feel even worse.

He didn’t need the reminder, but he’s sickly glad it’s there. Next time he won’t put Peter’s life at risk because of his stupid moral hangups. Hopefully, there will be no next time, but at least that’s one more lesson painfully learned.

He must have been unable to hide his thoughts because suddenly Peter shifts forward, face solemn, voice serious, and says very firmly, “I didn’t mean it like that, Tony. I don’t want you blaming yourself over one more thing. Please.”

Tony desperately wants his words to be true, wants more than anything to believe them and be absolved of his guilt, but he’s not in the habit of lying to himself.

So instead he says, “A bit hard not to, Pete,” and is proud that only a small amount of his self-loathing shines through.

Peter shakes his head as well as the position allows. “Nope. I could’ve jumped your bones anytime, right? But I was too scared to break this,” he gestures between them, then his hand somehow falls on Tony’s naked flank and _stays_. Just there, warm and a little bit sticky. “You were the brave one, Tony, there’s no way I blame you for taking your time.”

“I could’ve—”

“Yeah, maybe,” Peter cuts him off, “But I could’ve too. You were starving just as much as me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you giving me more and more food in the last few weeks.”

Tony completely ignores Peter’s chiding tone and flat stare because he doesn’t regret it one bit. Would do it all over again, in fact, because Peter is all that really matters and Tony will be damned if he doesn’t do everything he can to get him out alive. He obviously can’t do much more, has done enough damage himself, but he can do this.

“You need it,” is all Tony deigns to say on the matter.

“Yeah, but you need it too. This,” he says, hand sliding up from Tony’s hip to poke at his ribs — his very visible ribs, probably what Peter is pointing out, the asshole — “Is not exactly the look for you.”

Tony scoffs with mock affront. “Oh trust me, Spider-boy, I wear it way better than you do.” Tony smirks smugly and winks exaggeratedly, hoping to lighten the mood.

Peter obliges him, chuckling and then rolling his eyes in fondness. “Yeah, yeah. So cocky, Mr. Stark.”

“In more than one way, Mr. Parker.”

“Ugh. That was the lamest pun ever,” Peter groans. But then he slides close to Tony and kisses his cheek softly and says, “Please don’t blame yourself. We gotta do what we gotta do, right? We’ll be okay, Tony.”

Tony wants so badly to believe him. But all he can do is nod, words swallowed down with the ball of emotion trying to constrict his throat.

Peter looks him in the eye for long, searching for something. When he finds whatever it is, he smiles and pecks Tony gently, almost chastely. Then he turns around and grabs Tony’s arm to wrap around himself.

Tony pulls him closer automatically, his body’s natural response. Finally, when he can feel Peter’s body touching every line of his, he lets out a long exhale, breath hushing out of his lungs as if relieving a pressure valve. Funny how Tony feels exactly as if he’s been depressurized.

He kisses Peter’s shoulder, murmurs good night, and somehow falls asleep quicker than he has in a long, long time. Way longer than they’ve been away from home.

* * *

Peter waits until Tony has lined himself up with his dick, slathered liberally with the alien lube they’d been surprised with in their meal tray a couple of days ago — there had probably been less of a pause than would be recommended before applying alien things to sensitive body parts, but clearly they had thrown caution out the window the day they caved and ate their first fill of alien food aboard a slave spaceship.

“Why do we never change?” Peter asks.

Tony, obviously too busy with the eminent filling of his body, takes a while to process that question. When he does, he pauses mid-air, Peter’s dick in hand, and focuses his gaze on Peter.

“Huh?”

At least no one can be expected to be perfectly eloquent when about to get some cock up their ass.

Peter has a cute little confused frown in place. “I thought you said you were vers? Sticking to one thing was boring? I might be paraphrasing but that was the gist of it, I think.”

“Mhm.”

“So why do we never change it up?”

Tony sinks back down, sadly not onto Peter’s dick.

“You wanna change? You want me to fuck you?”

It’s not like he’s not thought about it since this started — but it’s also that he very resolutely tried not to think about it. It was one thing for him to let Peter fuck him, it was a whole other story to do the reverse. Tony had already taken so much from him.

But Peter clearly doesn’t think the same.

He nods vigorously, eyes bright, tongue coming out to lick his lower lip. “Yeah. I really, _really_ do. Very much so. Totally been fantasizing about it for a while now.”

Oh. Well. Tony had not been prepared for such an enthusiastic response.

“You sure? I…” Tony looks down, traces his fingers up and down Peter’s torso. Peter shivers and grabs onto Tony’s thighs harder. “I didn’t want to take another thing from you, Pete,” Tony finally murmurs.

“Ugh. Not this again.” Tony snaps his head up at the feeling behind Peter’s groaned out words.

“What?”

Peter grabs Tony’s wandering hands and holds them still, capturing Tony’s full attention with that one small move. “I want the full experience, alright? I want everything I need and deserve and I want you to get everything you need and deserve. Are we on the same page now?”

Tony really doesn’t think they are. “I’m not—”

“You are. No more beating yourself up about it, remember? We had a deal.”

“It was more like a one-sided imposition, to be fair,” Tony reasonably points out. “I know better than to make promises about my daily doses of self-loathing.”

Peter sits up with surprising speed, catching Tony deftly when he slips back and definitely does not squeal.

“Tony, I’m going to say this very explicitly, alright?”

Tony nods, too entranced by the fierce look in Peter’s eyes. Damn, this really goes to show how very much not a kid he is anymore. Where is all this self-assuredness even coming from?

Tony licks his lips, absently pleased when Peter’s gaze drifts down before snapping again back up.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Tony narrows his eyes, considering. On the one hand, he really does enjoy fucking as much as being fucked. On the other, he really does want to fuck Peter now that he has been allowed to properly taste that thought.

So maybe there’s only one side to his internal argument.

That settled, Tony twists his wrists out of Peter’s one-handed grasp and runs a couple of fingers through Peter’s too-long fringe, taking the opportunity to examine every inch of his face for last-minute hang-ups.

Finding none, he leans closer and ghosts his lips over Peter’s, just enough to barely touch.

“I’m still a little bit shocked at where all this confidence is coming from, to be perfectly honest,” Tony says conversationally. “But I can’t say I mind it one bit.”

He pushes Peter back on the bed, smirking when he falls down without a protest. Then he kisses him right on the lips, tongue teasing, then passionate, then possessive. He makes his way down Peter’s body, peppering kisses and licks and bites over every inch of skin. When he gets to Peter’s cock he deftly avoids it — it’s gotten more than enough attention so far, he decides. He moves lower still, coating his fingers with lube and opening Peter up nice and slow.

Peter pulls on his hair, moans and gasps and says “ _Tony_ ” with such feeling that Tony’s body reacts with desperate interest. But he can be patient, Peter needs him to be patient, so he takes his time, sliding in and out until he’s confident that Peter won’t hurt.

He moves back up, kisses Peter again, delights in his dazed look and swollen lips.

“You gonna get on with it, or what?”

Tony smirks at Peter’s sass, raises an amused eyebrow. Then very deliberately and very slowly slides into him. Extremely slowly. Peter squirms and gasps and tries to move down but Tony holds him still, smirk still in place.

It’s a whole different kind of power rush knowing that Peter has all the strength and more to move if he truly wants to, but he chooses to obey. Tony feels a shiver of pleasure from his cock right to his spine at every inch of contact with Peter’s body he gains.

“You were saying?”

Peter’s back rises off the bed a bit, body taut with frustration. He licks his lips, leaves behind a mouth that is pink and full and begging to be kissed. Tony doesn’t.

“Fuck, Tony. Just do it, I can’t anymore.”

“Hmm? I don’t know, I’m very much enjoying this.”

He definitely is. There are few things he loves more than this, driving his partners mad with anticipation. And what makes it even better is that Peter is still being snarky, still refusing to surrender. Tony does so love a challenge.

“ _Tony_.”

Tony slides the rest of the way in with one swift move, delights in Peter’s breathed out moan, the perfect mix of pleasure and surprise. He waits for a few breaths for Peter to adjust and then fucks him until Peter’s words lose all coherence.

Peter’s nails scratch his back, his legs tighten around Tony’s waist, his eyes fall shut, mouth parted in pleasure. Tony basks in the vision he makes, finally allowing himself to enjoy the sight.

Gosh, he can’t believe how much he’s wanted this, to have Peter just like this, to make that smart mouth be unable to speak properly.

Tony grabs Peter tighter, changes the angle a bit so he can hit Peter’s prostate just so, grins when Peter’s moans become even louder. After a while, Peter is nothing more than gasps and groans and “Fuck fuck fuck, _Tony_.” And then he’s coming, dick untouched, and the sight of it is such an unbelievable turn on that Tony follows him very soon after.

Tony collapses on top of Peter with more force than he usually would but he literally can not sustain his body anymore. Besides, Peter’s got all that super-strength that’s been underutilized lately, he can handle it.

“Fuck me,” Tony says once his breath has semi-returned.

Peter chuckles, pats him on the back. “Pretty sure it was the other way around. Well done, you.”

Tony snorts, Peter’s sass is clearly back, then he pinches his butt just because the little shit deserves it.

Peter laughs warmly. “I was teasing. But I do mean it. That was fucking amazing.”

Tony slides to the side with less grace than he would’ve liked, Peter winces a bit when Tony’s dick slips out and Tony kisses him in apology. Tony runs his thumb over Peter’s lower lip, then his cheekbone, settles his hand over the side of his face. Peter turns his head a bit and kisses his palm. Tony smiles, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

“That was awesome,” Tony agrees. “I’m totally regretting waiting for so long now.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a bit of an idiot sometimes,” Peter teases, but his smile is fond and the words are almost palpably gentle. “But you’re an idiot with a big heart, so I guess I can forgive you.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Next time I won’t care about your virtue.”

“Good,” Peter says seriously. Then, playfully, “I wanna see what else you can do when you’re not worried about my virtue.”

Tony shows him. Lots and lots of times, just for reference purposes.

* * *

Peter readjusts himself on Tony’s feet, turning around from his previous position so that he’s now sat facing Tony.

Tony sends him a dirty look which should very much indicate just how unimpressed he is with Peter nonchalantly coming to sit on his feet after doing two hundred sit-ups in the span it took Tony to do fifty.

“Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember Clint?”

Tony comes up from a sit-up to give Peter yet another look, then goes back down again.

“Do I remember our teammate and sometimes friend?”

“Yes.”

“The one I’ve known for longer than I’ve known you?”

“Yes. Are you gonna answer all of my questions with more questions?”

Tony grunts as he comes up for the hundredth, decides to make it the last one even if Peter is showing him up to depressing levels.

“Are you gonna get to the point?”

“You’re not funny.” Peter gets back to the floor and settles on a plank. Tony imitates him, positioning himself facing Peter since apparently they’re having a talk. “Anyways. Clint. Remember when Natasha made us all take classes on how to communicate with him when he didn’t have the…”

Peter trails off and Tony lifts his eyes up to see him motioning behind his ear indicating a hearing aid, perfectly comfortable doing a one-armed plank.

“Oh. Yeah, totally. I definitely went to those.”

Peter groans. “Did you at least learn your ABCs?”

“I’ll have you know I already knew them, thank you very much, Tony primly replies. “I dated this hot chick at MIT— Well, when I say dated I mean that I was completely infatuated with her body and she wouldn’t even give me the time of day. It was a brand new experience for me, let me tell you.”

Peter snorts, “I’m sure.”

“Anyway,” Tony pointedly ignores him. “I complained about my woes to Rhodey and he laughed at me for a good ten minutes before telling me the girl was—” Peter makes a cutting motion with a quickly freed-up hand and Tony remembers he’s probably going about this whole conversation in a very round-about way for a reason. “Uh, the same as Clint, and probably wasn’t ignoring me on purpose.”

“Please tell me you didn’t learn your ABCs just so you could get into some girl’s pants.”

Tony drops down into push-ups, Peter effortlessly following suit.

“I could, but then I’d be lying to you 'cause that’s exactly what I did.”

“I used to think it would be cool if I’d met you before when you were my age,” Peter says, in a completely uncalled for tone. His voice is not even the slightest bit strained, to add insult to injury. “I totally take that back now. You were a total creep.”

“Okay, first of all, she said that was actually one of the most considerate things someone had done to try to seduce her. Told me so herself. And we dated for a whole three weeks, so. There.”

Peter makes a very dubious sound at that. “And the second point?”

“Huh?” Tony distractedly says. He does a few more push-ups while Peter meaningfully waits for him to catch his train of thought. Tony thinks Peter is a right cocky shit sometimes. “Oh. Right. The second point is that I really was about 85% of a creep for a few years there, can’t even lie. Well, more like a huge asshole than creepy, but that’s not much grounds for a defense.”

“Yup. Totally glad I only met you after you got your shit together.”

Tony decides it’s probably better not to divest Peter of the notion that Tony has any of his shit together at all.

He grunts as he does his final push-up, decides if they’re gonna keep talking then he really is not going to push himself to do a hundred push-ups. He’s not exactly in tip-top shape anymore what with all the weight he lost and the two meals a day only intended for minimal sustenance and not muscle growth.

Tony collapses on the floor, sweat making his naked back sticky. He looks at Peter and points a lazy finger at him.

“You know, I’m pretty sure if you go back to your aunt swearing like you have been lately she will chop off my balls and feed them to me with a side of her horrible date loaf.”

Peter sits with his legs stretched out and carelessly leans on Tony’s bent knees. And he laughs at him, the jerk. Tony knows very well when Peter is laughing because of him or _at_ him, and this is definitely a case of the later.

“Okay, first of all, my hypothetical swearing spree would be the least of Aunt May’s reasons to chop off your balls,” he says in a meaningful tone which Tony very much does not appreciate because it reminds him of precisely what devious things he’s been doing to May’s nephew. Peter carries on, totally unconcerned for Tony’s plight. “And second— see how I followed right with my second point there and didn’t get Alzheimer’s halfway through?”

Tony flicks his nose. Peter swats him away mid-laugh.

“Second of all,” he pointedly continues, “Do you seriously think I learned all my swear words from you?” He scoffs. “Please. Aunt May has the biggest foul mouth in the whole neighborhood. And we live in _Queens_. So. Yeah, she’s practically taught me to swear, you’re just lucky I’ve kept my most colorful ones to myself so far. Wouldn’t want to traumatize your poor mind.”

Tony raises his head and stares at Peter for a full two minutes in a mix of shock and awe. Then he pulls him down to the floor, climbs on top of him, and very thoroughly proceeds to ravage his body because that was somehow incredibly hot.

And to think the little shit had completely fooled him with the whole ‘look, Mr. Stark, I’m so innocent and polite’ shtick.

After, now re-situated on the bed, Peter’s face is hidden between his shoulder and neck, hot breath making Tony shiver. Tony remembers what had gotten them into this situation and says, “So, what about ASL?”

“Think their translation magic works with it too?” Peter murmurs into his ear, voice hoarse from screaming.

Tony hums in consideration, runs his nails up and down Peter’s back. Peter’s skin turns to goosebumps, forming a map of his path.

“I think the _tech_ might be universal,” Tony says, very much emphasizing his thoughts on Peter’s absurd proposition that it could be anything other than technology. “At least that’s what I’d do if I’d built it. But I’m brilliant so I suppose we can’t know for sure.” He flashes a smug smirk before twisting his lips in consideration. “I guess it could potentially include it, but we might have more luck with a, b, and c.”

Peter makes an agreeing little noise, takes Tony’s wandering hand and puts it over his butt, demanding soft tickles there. Tony dutifully obliges and Peter turns into a pile of goo, words coming out slurred with sleep.

“’kay. We’ll try tomorrow. Something meaningless.”

“Sure thing, spidey-o. Now sleep. You’re about ready to start drooling and handling your drool while you’re sleeping may be tolerable but awake not so much.”

Peter huffs out a laugh and kisses his neck. He’s asleep in the next couple of breaths.

The next day they do try to sign — or rather, fingerspell — and even when they get riskier and spell out absurd plans for killing the Grandmaster, no guards come to take them to the guillotine. Or whatever the alien version of that is.

Peter’s whole frame shakes with joy and excitement and Tony’s heart constricts at the look of blooming hope he sees in Peter’s face for the first time in a long while.

Naturally, Tony keeps to himself the fact that it doesn’t really matter if they now have a means of possibly-undetected communication. There’s still no way out, no matter how much they try to plan.

They keep at it, though. If nothing else, it’s as good a way as any to pass the everlasting time.

* * *

Peter’s lying on the foot of the bed, body dangling down carelessly while his legs are sprawled all over Tony. Tony can’t see his head at all, but he can just picture it being all red from the blood that’s been flowing down for a good ten minutes.

Tony’s teased him forever about all the weird places and ways Peter likes to dangle his body from, and it’s somehow even more endearing now than it had been when he was younger.

The first time Tony had walked into the lab at the Compound and found Peter hanging upside down from the ceiling like some miniature version of Aragog, Tony had nearly had a heart attack while his mouth had run with some wise crack or another. Peter’s response had been to dangle even more precariously until he was face to face with Tony, smile infuriatingly brightly, and then say that it helped him think.

Tony wonders often how he manages to keep his sanity while living in such close quarters with a complete lunatic.

“Do you know what I miss the most?” Peter pipes up out of the blue.

Tony’s fingers tap a long-forgotten melody on the cool metal wall behind his head. He could close his eyes and picture almost perfectly the scene: his mother sat by the piano, four-year-old him on her lap, her long fingers over his tiny chubby ones, singing along with the tune.

The scene is crystal clear — the melody, for some reason that completely escapes him, not at all. All that’s left is muscle memory.

“What?”

Peter’s voice has an unmistakably wistful quality to it. “Mr. Delmar’s sandwiches. And the hotdogs from that one truck on Woodhaven. And dumplings from that little whole in the wall by Ned’s house. And my favorite Thay delivery. And also pizza.” He sighs dreamily. “Aunt May always adds extra corn to the pepperoni one and it’s just the best.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “That sounds gross, Pete.”

Peter pokes him with his big toe. Tony narrowly avoids saving his crown jewels from Peter’s path of pointy-toed destruction. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks,” Tony says.

He decides it’s safer if he just grabs Peter’s aggressive feet and then, for lack of something better to do now that he has them, starts massaging them gently. Peter makes an appreciative sound that is just this side of obscene.

“What do you miss the most?” Peter asks after a beat, voice drowsy.

“This is entering depressing topics real quick, Peteroo. I thought we had a whole agreement about avoiding emotional minefields while in space.”

“It was a one-sided silent agreement, Tony. Totally doesn’t count.”

“I liked you better when you were still calling me Mr. Stark and looking at me with those puppy eyes,” Tony comments dryly, lips curling in amusement.

Peter rises up from the floor to give him a mischievous smirk. “I can still call you Mr. Stark if you want.”

“Surprisingly, not one of my kinks.”

Peter falls back down with a loud exhale, although it's not at all a disappointed one, Tony notes.

“No? Not into the whole power play?”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Did you forget I dated Pepper for like, almost ten years? Believe me, I _am_ into that, just on the receiving end.”

Peter comes back up so quickly Tony’s neck snaps up with a crack to catch up. “Holy shit, I owe MJ like a hundred bucks.” He groans and scoots further up onto the bed, unfairly agile, and rests back on his elbows. “Oh my gosh, she will be insufferable for the rest of eternity.”

Tony raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Did you bet on my sex life with your little friends?”

“Uh, yeah?” Peter gives him a disbelieving look as if Tony really should know better. “Everyone does that with celebrities. You’re a celebrity, therefore it’s practically mandatory to do so.”

“Using words like ‘therefore’ like this is some sort of college dissertation does not make it any less creepy.”

Peter shrugs, an awkward move with his elbows still resting on the bed, but he seems utterly uncaring.

“It is what it is. MJ was totally sure that Miss Potts was like, super dominant in bed as well as like, regular life, and that she had you wrapped around her little finger.”

Tony coughs awkwardly. That is actually all incredibly accurate but it doesn’t mean Tony will just say it out loud. Ever. It’s bad enough that everyone already knows Pepper can make him do more than most, they don’t need to know just how much more.

He affects a casual tone to his voice and says, “I’m assuming since you lost the bet you had a different idea?”

“Nah, not really.” Peter waves a hand at him and promptly falls onto to the bed. Tony presses his lips to hold in a laugh at the comical sight while Peter very adamantly chooses to ignore it and just casually crosses his arms under his head. “It was weird to think about you like that, so I just bet her the opposite to be done with it.”

Tony hums, bemused. “I thought I was a celebrity and ‘therefore it was practically the law’ or something.”

“Yeah, to _them_. To me, you were just Mr. Stark and that was weird as fuck.” He pauses dramatically then says, “Now _Steve_ , that I definitely bet on.”

Tony bursts into a peal of laughter that bring tears to his eyes. “Holy shit, you really are a sneaky little brat. I can’t believe you fooled me with your fake innocence for so long. ‘Oh, Mr. Stark, why are the big bad meanies so mean?’”

Peter gives him a shit-eating grin, then taps his toes to Tony’s stomach as if to drive his point further. “Okay, to be fair, I was pretty innocent when we met. Minus the whole swearing thing ‘cause Aunt May. But then, you know, life.”

Tony makes an understanding sound, thumbs still dutifully massaging Peter’s feet. “One too many assholes to deal with?”

“Oh no, mostly you and the rest of the Avengers,” Peter says breezily. “The worst type of examples, honestly,” he adds with a rueful shake to his head.

Tony contains a smile and playfully pinches Peter’s leg even though he knows he will probably not feel it. “What an ungrateful little shit.”

Peter grins at him without an ounce of remorse. “Your life would be totally boring without me and you know it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it boring. Do you think I only started being awesome when we met? Please. My life’s always been spectacularly chaotic.” He winks at Peter’s pout, then rests his head carelessly on the wall. “I might miss you a bit,” he concedes with put-upon reluctance. “Just a bit, don’t let it inflate your ego. There’s only room for one giant ego in this room and it’s already taken.”

“Of course.”

Tony raises a brow at him and then shakes his head in faux exasperation. He barely stops himself from saying something like ‘kids these days’ because that just won’t do. Peter is definitely not a kid anymore. Any doubts he might have had have long since been erased thanks to the seriously filthy things they have gotten up to lately.

Peter is quiet for a while, and Tony just enjoys the feel of his warm body while his hands move from Peter’s feet to running absentminded patterns through his legs, playing with Peter’s fine leg hair.

“Do you miss her?” Peter asks, breaking Tony out of the placidity of the moment.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Who?”

“Miss Potts,” Peter says, like Tony should keep up with the conversation.

“Oh. Yeah, of course. I miss everyone.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs. He pauses for a bit, clearly thinking about everyone they left behind. Then, finally, he says, “Yeah, I know, but like, do you _miss_ her?”

“Is repeating your question with a different emphasis supposed to give me more clues?”

“Yeah.”

“It didn’t.”

“Ugh. I meant, like, if you miss her, miss her,” Peter says, hands flying from underneath his head to fling haphazardly in the air as if a visual demonstration will somehow make his nonsense suddenly clear.

“Just spit it out, Parker, I don’t have the patience to try and guess.” Tony gives him an unimpressed look. “Next time you’re probably gonna repeat it three times as if that’ll help.”

Peter huffs. “Like you’re very busy right now.”

“I’ll have you know my brain never stops thinking, so yeah, I’m always pretty busy in here.” He taps his temple with a small smirk.

Peter waves a dismissive hand at him. “Pft. You’re not the only genius around here.”

That has Tony breathing out a laugh. “Some days I have my doubts. So how about you use that big brain of yours and just say what you mean.”

Peter lets out a sigh heavy with exasperation, which is totally what _Tony_ should be doing, not the other way around.

“I meant if you miss Miss Potts as your girlfriend, or fiancé, or whatever you two were lately.”

“Broken up,” Tony supplies. “Very much broken up for a while now.”

Gosh, he never could’ve guessed how very relieved he would be to say those words. At any other point in his life, he most definitely would not have been. It had always wrecked him when Pepper broke up with him, always left him feeling like a complete failure and utterly incapable of being good enough for anyone, let alone someone as amazing as Pepper.

Now, though, he thanks his lucky stars he doesn’t have one more thing to add to his guilty conscience. Having to sleep with Peter was bad enough — although it really is feeling less and less like so, and that in itself is a huge problem Tony is valiantly choosing to ignore every passing day — but it would’ve been way worse if doing so would’ve made him a cheater. Pepper probably would have forgiven him, but Tony is not sure he would’ve forgiven himself.

Peter’s hands start waving around in the air above him again.

“Yeah, but you’re always breaking up and then getting back together, right? It’s kind of your thing. Pretty sure I’ve seen stories about you two on the tabloids since I was in elementary school.”

Tony tries to ignore the hurt he still feels at the truth of those words — not good enough, too much to handle for long periods of time, constantly putting her in danger — and affects a tone of mock affront that is only the slightest bit shaky.

“Wow, okay then, way to point out my inability to hold a relationship in the same sentence you show me just how old I am.”

Peter manages to somehow make a simultaneously sympathetic and unapologetic expression.

“It’s true, though.”

“It’s a little bit true,” Tony concedes. Peter sends him an expectant look when Tony doesn’t develop further, which has him sighing. “I screw up a lot,” he says with an explanatory shrug. “Also, Pep could never handle the Iron Man thing, it was bound to end in disaster. Or not disaster, we’re still friends, surprisingly, but yeah, definitely broken up.”

“Oh,” Peter says, his tone hinting at something Tony can’t interpret.

Tony snorts. “That’s it? That whole convoluted thing just to go ‘oh’? That was five minute of my life I’ll never get back.”

Peter shrugs. “I was just curious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was! Totally just honest to god simple curiosity. No secondary plots whatsoever.”

Tony would believe him, if it weren’t for his voice rising and his arms gesturing even more wildly than usual and, oh, just his overall everything that screams _lying_ in big bold letters.

He sniffs out his incredulity. Peter sucks at lying so bad. “Right. Okay then, have it your way”

They’re quiet for a moment, Tony mercilessly letting him stew, before Peter is all but ready to burst.

“It’s just I’ve been wondering all this time if I was like, the other woman, you know?” he finally blurts out, words coming out at full speed now that they’ve been set free. “Or man, I suppose. But definitely the home wrecker, and I’d ruined your perfect relationship and Miss Potts would totally kill me when we got home. And she’s really scary, you know? I mean, she’s got _you_ handled down pat, so what is little old me supposed to do in the face of that, you know?” He exhales loudly and makes a miserable expression which has Tony’s lips twitching not to laugh. “She would probably have my balls for breakfast or something.”

“Probably dessert,” Tony helpfully points out. “She usually goes vegetarian for breakfast.”

Peter nods somberly. “Yeah. I can see that. That’s why she’s always ready to kill someone with her pinky. All that anger from lack of animal protein.”

Tony bursts out in genuine, unexpected laughter. “Oh, I am so telling her you said that.”

Peter sends him a shocked look that quickly morphs into desperate pleading. “You can’t! Please, please, Tony. Don’t tell her I said that. I didn’t say anything, actually. Not a peep out of these lips. Nu-huh.”

Tony nods with mock seriousness. “Of course not.”

Peter bobs his head up and down. “Definitely not. I would never.”

“‘Cause you’re too smart to say something like that. A genius, even.”

“Obviously.”

“Right.” Tony nods and then a slow grin builds across his lips. “I might take pity on you if you promise not to make any more jokes about my age.”

Peter’s cheeks puff out and then he huffs out exaggeratedly. “I mean, that’s a pretty big ask. I dunno… I might just take my chances with Miss Potts.”

Tony decides that this is the perfect moment to demonstrate to the annoying little brat that he’s very much capable of making him change his mind.

In one fluid movement he’s on top of Peter, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, and making him come so quickly he might have set a new record. And then he does it again, and again, and it’s only when Peter hits his fourth orgasm that Tony finally relents in his punishment and comes in him with a muffled cry of pleasure.

Tony is draped over Peter’s back, catching his breath, peppering kisses into every inch of skin he can reach without having to move. He tries to pull out but Peter says “Stay,” and so Tony does, his oversensitive dick getting the full brunt of Peter’s walls contracting with aftershocks of pleasure.

He has both arms wrapped around Peter, cocooning him with his body, and enjoys the feel of Peter’s body slowly relaxing, his skin sweaty and sticky and warm against Tony’s chest. And utterly perfect.

Somehow, completely unbidden, he finds himself whispering those words to Peter’s ear. “You’re perfect,” he says, voice husky. “You’re really fucking perfect, Peter.”

And Peter shivers at the words so instantly that Tony gasps a bit with the shock of it. It makes Peter’s walls clench and that elicits yet another gasp from Tony. Damn, if only he were a bit younger so he could go again this soon.

“Tony…”

“It’s true, Pete. It’s the damn truth.”

Peter turns his blushing face towards the mattress. Tony smiles softly and tries to coach him out by pressing kisses to his neck alternated with nibbles on his earlobe.

“You’re pretty perfect yourself,” Peter eventually says, voice muffled from him refusing to come out of his hiding spot.

Tony hears him perfectly clear anyways and it does something completely unexpected to him. He chokes up on a surge of emotion and finds that he doesn’t have any words to reply to that.

He leans his head onto the crook of Peter’s neck, Peter’s wild hair tickling his cheek, and just… breathes for a long time. Breathes Peter in.

“For what it’s worth,” Tony says, breaking the long silent. “I’m really glad there’s no one waiting for me at home.”

He can’t say more than that, not even to himself. Just that little half-worded confession feels like he’s taken Mjolnir to the feeble damn protecting his heart. But he thinks Peter understands anyways.

Peter lets out a soft breath, turns his head to the side, and ends up so close that his lips brush Tony’s. And then he’s kissing him, soft and warm and comforting and somehow everything Tony needs right now.

Tony loses himself in kissing him back, feels distantly aware of Peter repositioning them so Tony is on top of him, chest to chest, with Peter’s legs wrapped around Tony’s waist. Tony’s cock sadly slips out of Peter in the process.

They keep kissing and kissing and kissing, and it’s so soft, such a disparity to most of their passionate moments, that it leaves Tony a bit baffled. But he doesn’t want to stop it, not even a little bit. He also doesn’t want to analyze it too much. Tony just wants to feel, to feel Peter around him, touching everywhere. To feel their skin come together like they were weaved from the same cloth.

Tony feels Peter’s hand on his cock and he gasps out in pleasure, realizes that he’s hard again and hadn’t even felt himself get there. Peter slides him inside and it’s so easy, so natural, so _good_. Fuck, Peter feels so good. And Peter is looking at him so intently, his eyes hinting at something so complex yet so familiar. Tony kisses him then, soft, pliant kisses, lazy brushes of tongues and playful licks of lips. He moves in a slow, sinuous, fluid rhythm, Peter matching him with every stride.

And when did they get so completely in sync? When did they learn each other’s bodies so thoroughly? Tony doesn’t have an answer for that, and he doesn’t think he wants to.

What he really wants is to make Peter feel good, feel wanted. And, surprisingly — or perhaps not so, if that look means anything — Peter makes him feel just as good, just as wanted. It’s a heady feeling.

They trade languid kisses and Tony keeps moving his hips in a slow rhythm and it’s all very soft and unhurried and absolutely perfect. Tony feels Peter’s gasp against his lips, opens his eyes to see the look of bliss and almost surprise in Peter’s face, keeps looking into his eyes as Peter comes, feels Peter calling out his name like a caress to his skin, washing over him with unbelievable warmth, and then Tony is coming too, filling Peter with all the feelings he’s unable to voice.

He thinks Peter sees it anyways, thinks he can’t hide any of it from his face. But then he decides it’s alright. If there’s anyone that deserves to see all of him it’s definitely Peter.

Somehow they fall asleep just like that, in between softly whispered words and mellow kisses. Tony sleeps better than he has in a long, long time.

* * *

Tony had never thought there’d come a day in his miserable life where he would become accustomed to this:

Wake up, get a plate of food from a silent jailor, wander around the room with nothing to do, take three or four showers a day due to lack of something to do, have sex with Peter not just the once a day meal guarantee but actually two to three times a day because they have nothing else to do, pick a new exercise routine a day because they still have nothing else to do, get another plate of food at the end of the day, sleep.

Repeat ad nauseam.

Sometimes they play games. Playing full games of chess all in their heads is an interesting exercise in how good Peter’s memory is and how many times Tony can cheat. The answer, surprisingly, is not many. Tony doesn’t let it dissuade his future attempts one bit.

A lot of times they will just talk. Little anecdotes, longer stories, some funny, some decidedly less so.

Tony, determined to keep Peter’s chances of a future viable and non-negotiable, keeps a slot in their imaginary timetable which he dubs ‘lecture time’. This includes Tony reciting every single class he can remember from his MIT days — a surprising amount considering how long ago it has been — as well as every single thing he can come up with that he decides Peter needs to know.

It’s bad enough that they got kidnaped by aliens, Tony will make damn sure that Peter can go back to college when — _if_ —they go back.

Peter — brilliant, eager, hardworking Peter — makes Tony test him on his knowledge at random times. Pop quizzes, he calls them, determined to score perfectly every time.

Those are perhaps the times Tony loves and hates the most. Lab time with Peter has always been his favorite; watching his brain work, being a part of his thought processes and seeing what he can come up with. But also teaching him, bathing in the awe and excitement Peter has always shown towards everything Tony chooses to share with him. Like every little thing is a gift.

To consider that they might never get it back… Tony can’t bear the thought.

Peter is keeping count of the days since they’ve been gone from Earth as well as the days they’ve been stuck in the room. Tony stopped counting around day two hundred and something. It was just too depressing.

What’s the point, anyway? They’ve been gone for months, _months_ , without a single chance of contacting Earth, of letting someone know what happened to them. Hell, the last time they spoke to someone besides each other was when they’d been brought to the room.

Tony almost can’t believe the last words he heard from someone other than Peter were “The pink pills are for your teeth.” It had been quite the experience to put them in his mouth and feel _things_ moving around in there and leaving his teeth clean and, weirdly, cucumber fresh.

But all of this certainly puts another perspective to life. Such as, why? Just, why? What even is the point of existence.

But also, perhaps more poignant at those desperate times when the night is just running too generously on hours — why _them_?

It isn’t like they’re special. For once, they weren’t abducted out of the sky by _literal aliens_ because they were Iron Man and Spider-Man. No, in fact, their superhero aliases only served them long enough to separate them from the other humans and be deemed as good enough stock for the gladiator-like pits of Sakaar.

It was all purely, laughingly, coincidental. Alien ship hovers over the planet, zaps up random people onto their ship, corrals them into a room to join the other captured aliens.

Was this how they knew they’d made it as a planet? Becoming part of the intergalactic slave trade? Somehow, Tony had been hoping for something a bit different. Perhaps less abductions and more fight for your planet type of thing. They’d done it once, they could do it again.

This though, being sold as a gladiator-turned-sex-slave to another planet thousands of light-years away? Well, he could’ve certainly done without this part of the experience.

Tony had never thought there could be a time he’d get to go to space only to hate every single minute of it. Heck, he barely even got a look at anything other than the inside of their overcrowded cell block and the too-colorful corridors of their new home before they were shoved into their new room and someone lost the keys.

Tony plays with Peter’s hair while his thoughts drift off to unpleasant places, as they tend to do these days. Peter’s hair is now almost to his shoulders. Peter hates it, says it tickles too much. Tony thinks he still looks beautiful regardless, but he can see how it would be annoying.

Peter still can’t grow a proper beard, which Tony has no qualms teasing him about, only for Peter to turn it back on him about the miserable state of his overgrown beard these days.

Tony thinks the aliens really should do something about providing proper grooming for their sex slaves, but apparently it’s not something they care about. Go figure.

Tony’s own hair is doing something decidedly unflattering where it refuses to grown down normally and is instead collecting on top of his head in something bearing a very unfortunate resemblance to a mop. Tony hates it, Peter says he likes the curls.

Tony thinks they both have a problem.

Peter sighs in his sleep, his head turning on Tony’s lap a bit as if to chase Tony’s fingers. Tony realizes he’s stopped playing with Peter’s hair, had gotten lost in the soft features of Peter’s face, his lips pink and slightly pouty from sleep, his brow furrowed with dreams.

This has been going on for a while now, too.

Tony is not sure how he went from literally vomiting at the thought of having sex with Peter to getting lost in his every feature. He can’t grasp how they went from mentor-mentee to friends to _this_. Whatever this is.

Perhaps it was when Peter would make sure Tony got out of bed every day and took a shower first thing to get ready for their day, as if there might be something new happening they didn’t know about. Perhaps when Peter made him smile when Tony thought his lips would never be able to turn that way again. Or perhaps when Tony would try his damnedest to make sure Peter lost at mental chess and Peter would win and then laugh and laugh and laugh at the miserable look Tony sent him.

Perhaps even when he had said it was okay, that it wasn’t Tony’s fault, that he didn’t blame him. Perhaps it had all started that first night.

So maybe — maybe he can, a little bit. When they are the only two people in this room, when it’s either strengthen their bond or risk madness… Yeah. Of course they’d end up exactly like this.

Tony is brought out of his reverie by the door opening.

Actually opening, not just the small latch for the food. And it’s not even meal time, it’s about the middle of their day and it’s been months since they’ve had anything resembling lunch — this is more of a two-meal a day kind of establishment.

Tony can do nothing but stare in shock as the door slides open with a whoosh and two big guys appear on the other side.

Peter jumps up from Tony’s lap, suddenly wide awake from his nap, body in a protective crouch.

The guards take one look at them and one simply says, “Come.”

They get up to their feet in a flash.

It’s probably incredibly stupid, they have no idea who the guys are — though it’s a fair assumption that at least one of them is their regular jailor — or where they’re supposed to go, but at this point they clearly don’t care.

They’re going out. Out! Outside of their 117,38 square feet room — Tony and Peter had spent a whole three days painstakingly measuring every single angle in the room.

Tony looks at Peter and is met with a matching look of shock and glee.

It’s official: their captivity has affected their sanity.

The walk is refreshingly long. Or maybe they’ve been locked up for so long Tony has lost all track of time-space relativity. Regardless, it’s wonderful to stretch his legs, to look at something other than their own beige walls.

The corridors are full of garish colors, almost too bright and yet perfectly soothing his craving for _life_. There are people milling around, going about their everyday business. More than a few pause to look at them, almost always with a look of pure awe.

Some of the glee Tony had been feeling dims at that, realizing that the ones that recognize them had probably watched them. Watched them eat and sleep and talk and have sex. Their very own reality porn stars.

It was easy, in the isolation of their room, to forget that they were there for a purpose. That they were kept alive and fed because there was a demand for their… performance.

The reality of it makes Tony want to crawl out of his skin.

Tony takes Peter’s hand and grabs him _tight tight tight_ , wants to take him into his arms and protect him from all the looks.

Peter leans closer to him, their arms touching as they follow the guards up and up and up.

Tony doesn’t feel so excited to be out, after all. Not even a little bit. Their room seems like a perfect bubble of safety right about now, even if it makes them the ostriches in this situation.

At one point in the long maze of corridors, they come across a window and Tony just stops. Hard enough that Peter, hand still holding Tony’s, is pulled back from the force of it and crashes into Tony’s chest with an “Oof.”

Tony doesn’t care, he’s too busy staring at the world outside the tower, outside their windowless room. There are three suns. Three. And they shine so brightly that Tony’s eyes hurt but he can’t stop looking at all the light and the colorful buildings and the flurry of movement from the ant-like people milling about in the crowded streets.

There’s gaping holes in the sky as well. Some big and some small, all of them either sucking in things or dumping them down. Tony’s eyes drift off to the closest one, steadily absorbing everything in its path.

He wonders if he were to step under it where it would take him. Away, for sure. The idea lures him like a siren’s call, even if he doesn’t have the faintest clue where it would take him. But away sounds simply perfect.

Peter stares too, holds onto Tony’s arm as if to steady himself. Tony wants to run, then. He wants to take Peter and make a run for it, crazy and unwise and completely unplanned as it may be. He thinks, almost deliriously, that Peter is probably strong enough to break the window, and then he could be free. Peter could scale down the building and hop onto a ship like a stowaway and head off to _fucking not here_.

Tony would be left behind in this imaginary escape plan since he just doesn’t have the whole sticking to buildings ability, but he thinks that’d be more than alright as long as Peter gets to be free.

Then the guards realize that they had stopped following and come to drag them back. Tony’s moment of wild fantasy crumbles into dust.

It never would’ve worked anyway, he tells himself. He can see the patrol ships hovering from here, they’d catch Peter in the blink of an eye. A captive Peter is at least an alive Peter, and Tony thinks that’s definitely the preferred option.

Regardless, the rest of their long walk is decidedly even more subdued.

They reach their apparent destination when two huge doors open dramatically and they’re ushered inside a big room. There are people there already, paired off in twos and threes. More follow suit after Tony and Peter, brought in by their own set of guards.

They set them all in a line. On display, Tony can’t help but notice. Just like a good, old-fashioned slave fair.

Tony is almost too afraid to find out what happens next.

Peter squeezes his hand comfortingly and doesn’t let go until Tony gets a hold of his nerves and stops shaking.Tony gives him a tight smile in thanks, then takes a fortifying breath to settle himself. Panicking will get him nowhere.

He looks around at the faces he can see. There’s all kinds of aliens here, some whose species they had come across on the ship, others not so much.

Rock dude is certainly fascinating, if only because — how? Just, how? Green chick looks like a meaner version of Natasha, red hair and all. Tony had not known there could be such a thing as someone more terrifying than Natasha, but you live and you learn, it seems.

There are twenty-three people by his rapid calculations, none of them trying to fight their way out.

Tony has been called many things in life, but stupid is not one of them. If aliens who look like they could crush someone in their sleep are not fighting their way out of here, then Tony without his suit is certainly not going to be the one to try.

It’s a sobering and depressing thought.

But he’s not giving up. There will be time still to come up with an escape plan. First, to figure out why they’ve all been gathered.

As if called by Tony’s thoughts, a man slides in on a throne-like chair from a side door, obnoxious music and seizure-inducing flashing lights following his entrance.

Tony can’t help but internally wince. It’s is all so gaudy. Very nouveau-riche, his mother would say.

The man steps out of his floating chair and smiles at them as if they should be honored to be in his presence. Tony tries very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Welcome, welcome! As you all know, I’m the Grandmaster.”

Oh, Tony thinks. So _this_ is the fucking asshole who bought them as sex slaves. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name, he supposes.

The Grandmaster’s smile widens, like he’s waiting for applause. The room is as quiet as before.

“And here you all are, my favorite stars. Wonderful, so wonderful.”

He claps his hand and turns to a burly-looking woman Tony had missed coming in, too distracted by the giant fucking pink elephant in the room.

“Aren’t they wonderful, Topaz? They really are.” He waves a hand in the arm, encompassing all of them with dramatic flair. “Well, you must all be wondering, why did we leave the luxurious comforts of our rooms? Hm? Take a guess.”

He waits for them, looking from one side of the line to the other. It’s all very melodramatic and very cringe-y.

“No? No one. I was hoping at least one of— but that’s alright, I can see the excitement has gotten to you. You’re at a loss for words! Well, I won’t keep the suspense up for longer. This, my lovely stars, is what the people have asked for! Isn’t it wonderful? You’re all my most popular little minions! Congratulations! Isn’t it so exciting? I’m excited.”

Tony is very much not excited. Tony would also like to know what the fuck is going on and preferably how soon they can return to their safe little room far away from creepy middle-aged guys who act like their Madam.

He also has a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.

He holds Peter’s hand even tighter and is sure that even with his spidey powers he must be feeling some damage.

“Anyways, the people have spoken and so here you are. Special delivery.” He grins brightly, benevolently almost, arms making a sweeping motion across the room. “You know how it is, we have to keep the people happy. Especially after the last revolution, am I right? That’s something we should definitely avoid,” he adds as an aside. “It has been pointed out to me that keeping you all as you’ve been can become a little… monotonous.”

There’s a sudden shift in the room. Not too visible, but it’s like everyone’s full attention has snapped to him at those words.

What does he mean keeping them as they are? He can’t mean— No. No, he can’t mean _that_. He surely can’t mean to take them— Nope. Not even entertaining that thought, Tony is so not going to let his brain jinx this already horrible situation.

The Grandmaster misinterprets — probably on purpose — their reaction and comically pouts. He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh no, don’t take it personally, I’m sure you’ve all been doing your utmost to keep the spark up. Don’t let the critics get to you, it’s only one little performance review. Give or take thousands,” he adds with a so-so gesture. The guard-lady snorts derisively. “Anyways, yes, maybe a little, I can see their point. So. Here you all are, and we’re letting the people decide!”

When his dramatic pause has gone on for too long, mean-looking antennae girl says, “Decide what?”

Tony finds he has major respect for the woman. She’s got some real lady ovaries on her.

“Oh, of course. I forgot to explain that part, didn’t I?” the Grandmaster says with a dry laugh. “Hmm, yes. I guess it was all the excitement, it happens sometimes you know? Where was I, Topaz? Oh, yes. The people will decide! Decide what, you ask? Why, your new companions, of course!”

He sweeps his hands magnanimously in their direction, as if expecting all their praise and admiration.

Everyone in the room just kind of… _shifts_.

Tony takes a step towards Peter, sees most of the others doing the same towards their partners.

He can’t— he can’t be serious. He just can’t be serious. Tony can’t lose Peter, he just _can’t_. He needs to get him home, he needs to get him out of this fucking planet and back to New York and _safe_. He needs Peter to be safe, and safe is with him, where Tony can protect him and take care of him and make him laugh and give him the biggest portion of food and—

Tony’s breath hitches, his pulse races. He can’t, he can’t lose Peter. _He can’t lose Peter_.

Peter’s arms envelop him, uncaring of the maniacal asshole putting on a show and gambling away with their lives like they’re toys. Property. To be used and abused for his entertainment.

But they are, aren’t they? Tony very distinctly remembers being bough for 8.600 units, a considerably high price due to his ‘value’, their slaver had remarked. Peter had gone for 10.000, which is only fair seeing as he’s worth so much more.

Tony almost laughs hysterically when the thought crosses his mind.

Peter smells like home — like their 117,38 square feet and their soap and something decidedly just _Peter_. Tony breathes him in, struggles for control of his lungs, of his heart, of his brain.

Peter’s hands hold his arms tighter. His voice is a warm whisper in his ear. “Breathe. Focus. Relax. Breathe in. Focus on me. Relax your muscles. That’s it, Tony, that’s it. It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t think it will be fine at all but he dutifully does as told and miraculously manages to not have a full blown panic attack right there.

The Grand asshole keeps on with his show as if everyone is just keen to play along.

“Isn’t it great? So great. So wonderful to get the crowd’s input. Anywho, the vote is going up in five. Don’t forget to choose based on your deepest and filthiest desires people! And three, two, one…”

A holographic panel comes up in the middle of the room between them and the Grandmaster, all their faces lined up as they are now only to shift at the click of the Grandmaster’s fingers and rearrange themselves.

Tony’s eyes flicker quickly across it, rapidly finding himself and Peter. They’re not paired up.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Peter holds him tighter, painfully so, but his body is trembling now and Tony doesn’t know what to do. He can’t let them take Peter away. He can’t.

“The results are up! Oh wonderful, wonderful. Hmm, interesting choices for sure. Oooh, I’d never have picked those two but I can see it. Oh, and them? Look at that, Topaz. Ooh, you devious little minxes. I like it! Alright then, let’s announce the new pairings!”

The Grandmaster claps excitedly and Topaz steps up from behind him and towards them. She starts pointing them in one direction or another, towards their new partners. The first person resists, and then she very pointedly lifts up her weapon and blasts a plant in the corner of the room into a big pile of green goo.

They all mutely comply after that.

Tony ends up next to rock guy. He looks him up and down for a moment, eyebrows rising higher and higher the longer he takes everything in, and then he just can’t stop himself.

“Uh, yeah. Hi, Mr. Grand something, not to break your bubble or anything, but this isn’t going to work.”

He waves at his partner, then at all the weird pairings in the room, then back and forth between himself and Peter. His heart is racing but his mouth is just being its usual smart-ass self and running the show.

Gosh, it’s been a minute, he was scared he’d be out of practice.

“Pete and I, totally human. That means we’re not equipped to deal with whatever that is.” He motions at rock dude’s body. “Seriously though, a rock? How even?” He shakes the thought out of his head. “Anyway. It just won’t work, pal. Physically impossible unless you wanna see your favorite stars be torn apart. And I’m guessing you don’t, seeing as we’re so valuable for the show and whatnot.”

The Grandmaster blinks once as if completely shocked that he’d dare speak up at all. Then he makes a thoughtful face, index taping away at his chin.

“Oh. Interesting. I hadn’t thought about that. Hmm, wouldn’t work you say? The parts don’t fit?”

“Not even a little bit,” Tony agrees with a mockingly mournful look.

Tony sends out a long-forgotten prayer to a being he’d decided didn’t exist when he was two-years-old and realized that the world wasn’t a fair place at all. But this has to work. He hopes this last-ditched effort gets him back with Peter. He _needs_ to be back with Peter.

The Grandmaster tilts his head in consideration. “Huh. Did you hear that, Topaz? Go figure. So strange. But alright, I see your point. We’ll just have to reconfigure this, right?” He looks to Topaz who merely nods her assent. “Yeah. Okay then. So… Hmm, you and you, and you and you, you two, and you three,” he says, pointing while the guard takes his direction and rearranges them again. “So how does that look? Everybody’s parts gonna fit?” He doesn’t wait for their replies before clapping his hands in excitement. “Great! Alright then, there you go, your new partners! Oh such a great day, this is so much fun. Alright, chop chop, off you go then, get acquainted with your new lovers. Go entertain us.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony does not end up back with Peter.

No, instead Tony watches Peter be taken away with his new partner — some purple woman-slash-intersex person who honestly looks like those Japanese futanari chicks. Tony saw her dress thingy, it was not hiding much at all.

Tony can’t do anything but watch, frozen, his eyes never leaving Peter’s until they simply can’t follow anymore.

His new partner nudges him to start walking when their guards get close and Tony numbly follows her.

He got the green chick. Meaner version of Natasha. At least she’s not made of rocks, he deliriously thinks.

He snorts, then chuckles, then tries to keep it all in when he realizes he’s having a breakdown in the middle of the corridor while flanked by two guards and his new sex partner.

Great. He’s fine. Perfect. Peachy. So good. Almost never better.

He can do this. He just needs to make it to the room and then he can have his crisis there, away from mean-looking guards with meaner-looking weapons.

He does make it back to his room. His room that suddenly doesn’t have Peter in it and instead has a woman who looks like she could kill him without breaking a sweat. Tony was supposed to protect him, he was supposed to take care of Peter, to be there for him, to make sure he learned everything he could so that he could catch up with his courses when they got back, and to make sure that he didn’t start with his morals again when it came to taking more food and—

Tony falls to the floor in a heap, breathing ragged and shallow and painful.

Fuck. _Fuck_. He can’t, he just can’t.

He doesn’t know for how long he stays there, tears flowing and breaths sharp and aching, but he thinks it must have been a very long time indeed because everything in his body _hurts_.

He looks up when he hears a noise, finds the woman wordlessly passing a cup of water towards him, the plastic dragging on the metallic floor. She’s sitting opposite him on the floor, one leg stretched and the other bent up, arm resting casually on it, back against the foot of the bed.

Tony drains the water in one gulp, his throat suddenly parched.

“You were close?”

She has a nice voice, Tony thinks. Strong but smooth. And he wouldn’t have picked her for the soft kind — and she’s not, he still doesn’t think she is — but there’s something gentle about her when she asks him that makes him not resent her.

It’s not like it’s her fault he doesn’t have Peter anymore. None of them have a choice in this.

For some reason he can’t fully comprehend, he suddenly feels like having another person listen to him is important. Maybe only having Peter to talk to for so long really did mess up with his head.

Tony nods. “He’s my… I don’t know, actually,” he finishes ruefully because it’s oh-so-painfully true. “Before… Before we were abducted, I was his mentor. Do you have that word? Yeah. I’ve known him for about five or six years. I’ve kind of lost track of time. Peter— Peter was keeping track of time for us.”

He almost chokes on his last words, the pain to his chest so strong it feels almost physical. He touches his scar automatically, his brain seeking the comfort of an absent arc reactor. 

“You’re Terran? From Earth,” she clarifies.

Tony meets her eyes for the first time, curiosity stirring him. “Yeah. You been?”

“No. I… My crew. I have a Peter too,” she says. Tony doesn’t know her at all, and she’s almost as good as Natasha at keeping a blank face, but he thinks he sees a twinge of something there. He must be a boyfriend. “He’s from your Earth. Is it a common name on your planet?” she adds with a hint of curiosity.

Tony chuckles despite himself. It’s weak and pitiful but it’s something. He’s not okay. He’s very far from okay, doesn’t think he’ll be okay again until Peter is back with him and they’re both back on Earth. But he can’t wallow in his misery, can’t let them beat him down. He won’t.

“Really? Uh, yes, kind of. Religious leftover, I suppose. But what’s a human doing with your crew anyways?”

“He was kidnapped when he was a child,” she says blithely, as if it’s something that happens to all of them. “And he’s half-human, half definitely-not-human.”

Tony wonders mildly about what a half-human half-alien looks like. Does he have only one antenna? Is he spotted like a leopard? Or striped like a tiger? Half regular earth skin color, half green or blue or purple or orange?

So many questions, so little mental energy.

Tony rests his head back on the wall, runs his fingers lazily over the rim of the cup.

“Huh. I guess aliens have been doing the whole abduction thing for longer than we thought. One point for conspiracy theorists.” He shakes his head in wry amusement. Who would’ve thought Area 51’ers would be right? “I’m Tony, by the way.”

She sends him a small smile. “Gamora.”

She goes quiet, eyes examining the room with the kind of scrutiny that comes from the very well trained. Tony thinks his comparison with Natasha is getting more and more accurate.

Tony stays silent while she analyzes and categorizes everything about the small room, from the double bed to the table and chairs melded to the floor, to the shower and sink and toilet set behind the half-wall. He sees her counting the cameras, even noticing the hidden one in the shower that had taken Tony a good couple weeks to catch if her pause in that direction is anything to go by.

Then she leans her head casually back on the bed and meets his eyes and there’s just the smallest hint of disappointment there.

Tony tries not to let his heart sink with the thought that what looks like a super-spy-slash-possibly-maybe-assassin has apparently deemed the room unescapable.

The only thing that makes him feel slightly better is the notion that he and Peter hadn’t been stuck here for no valid reason.

“You’ve been here for long?”

Tony hums, shakes his head to this side and that. “Months. Seven or eight? I don’t know anymore.” He sighs, chest constricting. Counting was Peter’s thing. “You?”

“A month is thirty days, right? Peter taught me Terra time but it all seems a bit too arbitrary.” Tony snorts out a weak laugh and she twists her lips in amusement. “Twelve days.”

“Huh.”

Tony almost can’t remember that far back. He can remember before, of course, before all this bullshit, and he can remember the ship on the way here. But everything since that first week when they were starving because they were too stubborn, too hopeful they could find a way out — everything since then has become one long blur of repeating days.

“How’d you end up here?” he asks her after a moment’s pause.

A flash of anger crosses her face. “We were on a mission, trying to recover a stolen artifact. Things went… wrong.” She stops, nostrils flaring, and Tony wonders what must have happened to make her display the first real, unguarded emotion so far. Probably something not very good at all. “I was separated from my team, ended up on a ship I stole from the Jabinge and then this fucking portal opens up out of nowhere and sucks me in.”

Oh, so that’s what they do, Tony thinks. He’d wondered where the junk was coming from. Obviously it would be the worst sort of recycling system if it was just going in circles around the same planet.

“That sucks,” he offers sympathetically.

She gives him a funny look for a beat, probably making sense of his expression, then says, “Big balls.”

Tony chokes on a laugh, the emotion catching him by complete surprise. He was almost convinced he wouldn’t be able to breathe without Peter let alone do something as convoluted as a laugh.

“Where did you even…?”

Gamora shrugs casually, a hint of a smile on her lips. “My Peter has strange expressions too.”

“I think I’d like to meet this Peter.”

She hums, the smile growing and becoming fonder. “He’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s a good guy.”

Tony catches the sadness on her face and shimmies his way across to her. Gamora sends him a weird look but he just goes with it.

“You’ll see him again. Someday.” He leans in for a hug and she stiffens. “Cameras,” he whispers, lips barely moving in her ear. Gamora stills and then relaxes, tilts her head so her hair is covering Tony’s face. “They gonna come find you?”

Gamora speaks at a normal volume, her mouth uncovered. “I know, I can’t lose faith. I’ll see them again, one day.”

Tony takes it as an affirmative. He feels a small tendril of hope bloom within himself, but he can’t let the feeling grow too deep or he might lose himself.

Tony peels himself back, pats her shoulder awkwardly. “Alright, roomie. How about we play twenty questions so we get to know each other better?”

“Play what?”

“Twenty questions. You ask me things you wanna know, I ask you back. I don’t know, man, Peter says it’s a good way to break the ice.”

“I’m fine not knowing.”

“Fair enough, E.T..” Tony smiles at her and she reluctantly returns it. Maybe as far as new roommates go, she won’t be too bad.

* * *

That night they don’t get food, nor the next morning. Tony knows where this is going but he’s very much not keen on acknowledging it at the moment. However, he does remember how much not fun it is to starve, so. His feelings don’t really matter; they’ve stopped mattering a long while ago.

But with the reality of their situation comes an obvious problem.

“Uh, quick question,” Tony casually says.

Gamora is sitting on the chair, feet up on the table, hands folded over her stomach in an image of perfect nonchalance. She raises a brow in invitation. Tony is learning Gamora can have whole conversations with just her eyebrows.

He sits down next to her, fingers drumming on the table.

“Can you get pregnant by any chance? Just out of pure, scientific curiosity.”

To her credit, she doesn't even blink at the non sequitur.

“Yes. My father only took that away from my sister. He wanted to seem benevolent with his fifty percent take on everything,” she replies, voice perfectly even.

“… that sounds like a lot of stuff to unpack,” Tony eventually settles on because, just, what even? He shakes his head. Best not to find out, probably.

“They took out my implant, when I got here.” Gamora points to the small, fresh scar on the underside of her arm, a darker green than her skin. “I was perfect for the breeding kink, apparently,” she blithely says, but Tony catches the dangerous undertone in her voice, knows that if she weren’t currently a prisoner with no means of escape there would probably be a trail of bodies left behind in her warpath.

“Sick fucking bastards.”

Gamora hums, tone completely devoid of amusement. “Yes. My last partner was very eager to comply.”

Tony blinks. He’d kind of forgotten she’d been with someone else before, for the few days she’s been here. “Oh. So you’re already knocked up?”

“You mean with child? No. I killed him.”

Tony chokes on his saliva. Gamora looks completely uncaring and unbothered.

“Right. Right, yeah, I can totally see that happening,” Tony says, his voice perhaps a bit too weak. Just a bit. A manly amount. “So, just to put it out there, I’m definitely not into that. Just so we’re clear. Really into women’s bodily autonomy and all that jazz. Free the nipple. Your body, your choice. Um... We can totally just do other things. If you’re on board, of course. Or nothing at all,” he wisely adds, hands up in a sign of peace.

Is it a universal sign of peace, though? Heck, for all he knows, in her culture this means the exact opposite.

Tony quickly puts his arms down and does his best to look contrite.

“That’s a very wise choice on your part,” Gamora evenly says.

“Good, good.” Tony clears his throat. “Uh. Glad we cleared that up.”

* * *

They don’t get food for two more days.

Oh, they do ending up having sex, though, but strictly anything that wouldn’t run the risk of a little extra surprise. So mostly just mouths and hands. Tony had spared a probably too-short moment to wonder about the possibility of catching some alien STI and then decided that dying of starvation would most likely be worse. Probably.

But, clearly, their attempts at circumventing the rules are not working.

Tony is still painfully aware that she could kill him if he even tries anything with her, but there’s a limit to his cowardliness. In the balance of starvation versus trying to speak sense into Gamora’s head, he will have to go with the second.

Granted, it’s been three days since he last ate so his judgment is probably not the most sound. He’s been without for longer, but he was kind of hoping he’d never have to do it again.

“Right, so. Here’s the thing, my mean little green bean. Remember that whole conversation about us not doing anything that could get you knocked up? Pretty sure that’s not gonna work out for us.”

Gamora, sitting cross-legged on the floor, meditating, simply cracks open her eyes and says, “ _Tony_.”

Tony admits that he chose a time where she was at her most relaxed, and probably unprepared, to bring the topic up. Because he is a bit of a coward. But also, in his defense, because he was hoping meditation would put some sense into her head.

Tony is also known for his recklessness, so he ignores her warning tone and goes on, full-steam ahead.

“Right, I get ya. I wouldn’t be too keen on getting preggo either if I were in this situation. Or any, really,” he says, because yikes. He leans back on his chair and taps his fingers to his stomach with forced nonchalance. “But see, I’ve played this game before, and let me tell you, they win every time. And I, for one, prefer to take the risk of death by angry woman rather than death by starvation. Just quicker, you know?”

“Oh, I can make it slow and extremely painful.”

She gets up in one fluid movement, suddenly right in front of him, beautiful and sensual and dangerous at the same time. Tony is very proud of himself when he simply nods in acknowledgment. His voice even stays perfectly steady. Go him.

“Yes. Right. I’m sure you can. But could you control all that green rage and not? It’s not exactly my choice either, you know. None of this is, actually.”

Gamora eyes him intently for a long moment. Tony licks his lips but stays firm, pleading with his eyes for her to cave.

Eventually, her expression softens and he lets out a little sigh. “I know,” she says

Tony blinks at her in surprise. Then, regaining his senses, he stands up, claps his hands, and motions towards the bed.

“Good. Great. So, shall we? I could really do with some food tonight. The whole skin and bones look is not a good one for me.”

Gamora takes off her tunic in one swift move and sways over to the bed. “I’d say the whole shaggy hair and overgrown beard is not a good one either, but I’m gonna spare your feelings.”

“Ouch. Pierced me right through.” Tony grins and follows suit. Then laughs when she pins him down and sits on top of him. She leans down to kiss him and Tony holds her neck to keep her close, whispers behind her hair, “I’ll try to pull out when I’m close, okay?”

Gamora bites his neck in response.

* * *

“Ooh, I’ve got a question.”

Tony turns towards her on the bed, body pleasantly sated. They finally got food a few days ago and Tony feels like they’ve settled into their own little routine. Not like his and Peter’s — not at all — but something… nice. Some sort of camaraderie, even if it isn’t always the easy kind.

Gamora waves an indulgent hand at him. 

“So Peter and I have a bet going on and I really wanna win. How are we communicating right now? Like, language wise.”

She narrows her eyes at him like he’s stupid. Tony is also becoming very familiar with this look. “With words.”

Tony rolls his eyes, unaffected and undeterred. “Yeah, obviously, honey pie. But how? Because I can understand everyone I’ve spoken to and it just sounds like they’re speaking English me, but I’m like a hundred percent sure that’s not possible. So. Any clue?”

“You mean the translation chip?”

Tony tries not to gloat that she’s retracted her ‘you’re dumb’ look and replaced it with one of mild interest.

“So it _is_ tech? I knew it! Damn, Pete owes me big time.” Tony grins. Then it dulls a bit when he remembers Peter is currently in some other room with his own new roommate and he can’t tell him he owes him his web formula.

“You’re ridiculous.” Gamora pokes him in the ribs, her face doing that peculiar thing it does when she’s noticed Tony’s mood sinking and she’s trying to make him feel better but has no idea how.

Tony sends her a small smile in thanks. “You like it. But what is it? Is it like an implant of sorts?”

“Hmm. There.” She shifts her hair and he lifts his head towards her. There’s a small bump behind her left ear, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. “It used to be extremely expensive, only merchants could afford to get them. But then the Nova Prime put out a bid for cheaper manufacturing and now it’s much more affordable. Pretty much anyone who leaves their planet has one.”

“Wow. So cool.” Tony collapses back on the bed, head turning towards her lazily. “But like, how does it even work? There must be a huge database in there. How can you be sure it’s gonna work with every single language out there?” Then he switches languages without warning her, testing his theory. “ _If I start speaking Italian do you still understand me, or is English the general go-to for Earth languages_?”

Gamora rolls her eyes at him fondly. “I still understand you, of course.” She crosses her hands behind her head, rests it casually on them.

Tony likes this thing where they don’t care they’re naked, don’t care they just had sex. There’s no awkwardness about that at all and it might honestly be the most effortless, purely sexual relationship Tony has ever had.

Gamora is a scary assassin chick, but she’s good people.

“It doesn’t work like that, there’s no database,” Gamora continues after a pointed beat where she lets him know how silly she thinks he is. “It accesses your neural pathways and makes it so that your brain can make sense of whatever language people use around you. And also the other way around. I hear you speaking in my mother tongue, you hear me speaking in yours.”

“Holy shit. That is… Really advanced stuff.”

Tony can only begin to imagine what kind of tech they’d need for that. Neurotransmitters and cerebral interfaces and a way to convey intention and meaning rather than simple lexicon… He really wants to try his hand at creating something like that.

And also,“Can I get one of those?”

“I’m sure if you ask nicely,” Gamora says, lips all teasing smirk.

Tony grins and waves at the nearest camera. “Hey, Grand Brother up in the sky! Can I get one of those translator thingies? Got any to spare for your favorite sex slave?” Gamora snorts and Tony turns back to her, eyes dancing with mirth. “Think he’s gonna get me one?”

She sends him a pitying look. “Sure.”

“Hey, I’m a top performer, I deserve a little reward.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she starts slowly. Tony narrows his eyes at her, aware there’s some inevitable burn coming his way. “I think humans might have different standards. My Peter was also too convinced of his prowess and it was… eh.”

Tony dramatically gasps in outrage, hand flying to his chest for added effect. “I can’t even believe your words right now. The level of vitriol coming out of those pretty lips. Jeez, you wound me, little grasshopper.”

“Did I hurt your little ego?” Gamora smirks, brow raised in challenge.

Tony sits up on his knees and nods very seriously. “Yeah. It’s unacceptable. Come on, let’s put on a little show. I’ll make you take your words back.”

Gamora acts very unimpressed until Tony makes her lose all coherent thought. Then she smiles at him, pleased. Even if she refuses to take her words back, Tony knows he won that showdown.

* * *

“Hey, lime pie?” Tony pipes up seemingly out of the blue.

It’s clothes-washing-day, which basically means they do their best to wash their tunics-slash-dresses with their all-purpose soap and leave them to dry on the chairs. Sometimes the guards bring them fresh clothes which are quietly exchanged for the dirty ones; more often they’ll just bring fresh sheets and towels, and so they have to resort to hand-washing the tunics themselves.

Tony had never in his life been so regretful of his privileged life than the first time he had to wash his dress. On the bright side, Peter had laughed at his ineptitude for so long that Tony had been inclined to make himself look even more useless just to hear the sound again.

So it’s clothes-washing-day, which also means that they're completely naked while they wait for the tunics to dry and, while it’s a state of being they both have no problems with lately, it sparked the flame of a thought in Tony’s head and he’s been trying very hard to push it down until suddenly he’s overtaken.

“What.”

Always so receptive, his roomie. Tony ignores her mood and continues with his yoga stretches. Gamora calls them old people exercises but he’s seen her surreptitiously try one or two moves.

Also, he likes how even when she is in a mood she always replies to his endless string of nicknames without making a single fuss about it. Tony really does like her.

“Just a little thought that’s crossed my mind, no big deal. But, uh, I’m not really counting but I’m almost positive you’ve been with me over a month right?”

“Forty-four days in this room.”

Tony nods. “Right. That.” He changes position semi-smoothly, settling into a downward dog. Peter always used to laugh at Tony’s lame puns about this one, but Tony doesn’t joke about it anymore. “So is it just me or you haven’t gotten your period since?”

Gamora sits up on the bed to properly send him one of her looks. “My what?”

Tony very studiously pretends it’s not awkward at all to be talking to a woman about her private vagina business but, well. He kind of has a vested interest in this, so he has to swallow his discomfort and face her possible wrath.

“You know. Your period.” Tony goes into an extended triangle — or, as he likes to call it, a Tony-giraffe. Gamora keeps looking at him blankly. “Your lady business? Crimson tide, visiting Aunt Flo, moon time. Nothing? Your womanly time of the month. When your body tells you, hey, not pregnant.”

Still no reaction. Tony is getting desperate here and resorts to dropping the metaphors. Wow, he’s at his last resort, Gamora is not making this easy on him _at all_.

“When you bleed?”

“Bleed from what?”

Is she messing with him? She’s probably messing with him, right? Tony still plays along, if only so it settles the niggling questions in his brain.

“Your vagina?” Tony’s voice squeaks a bit, he’s man enough to admit it. “I don’t know, mint leaf, I’m a guy, these things are iffy for us. We generally just pretend it’s not there and give our girlfriends lots of chocolate and cuddles when their time comes.”

Gamora goes from looking at him in blank confusion to seriously alarmed. Tony loses his balance doing his version of a tree.

“Why the hell would I bleed from my vagina unless someone stabs me? And your dick is not big enough to do me any damage, sorry to disappoint.”

Tony chooses to ignore her last jibe and sends her a desperate look, deeply regretting even bringing it up at all. This whole conversation around periods has gone on for too long from its very beginning.

“What do I know? Biology is weird. I’m not one for the mushy sciences and the last time I had AP bio was ages ago. Women just… do.”

Gamora looks at him, deadpan. “Bleed every month?”

“Yeah?”

“That seems like their bodies are begging to get them killed.”

Tony hums in agreement, lying down on the floor and raising his torso up for a cobra.

“Are there no predators on your Earth? Or are humans at the top of the food chain?”

She very obviously thinks how absurdly dubious that last point is but Tony is actually proud that she’s right.

“Technically we are, even if we’re not the strongest. I guess ages ago it would have been a hindrance to bleed all over, yeah. Now women have lots of stuff to deal with all that.”

Gamora does not seem convinced in the slightest. “I would rip out my organs before allowing them to hold me back like that.”

“It’s supposed to hurt to,” he adds as an afterthought. “Lots of women get cramps.”

Gamora’s face is priceless. “Humans are so strange.”

“Yeah,” Tony sagely agrees. He stretches into a locus, takes a minute to catch his breath and hold the pose, core muscles straining. This is usually the point where Peter makes fun of him for looking like a drowning fish. Tony forcefully pushes the thought away and returns to his original point. “So you don’t? Bleed, that is.”

“Absolutely not,” Gamora says, looking actually affronted at the mere idea. She falls back onto the bed, feet dangling off the edge. Her soles are a darker shade of green which Tony thinks is too cute and was totally unexpected the first time he noticed.

Tony bends into a bow, hates himself a little bit while he’s at it. “So how do you know…? You know. If you’ve got a little surprise growing.” His voice is strained with he effort but he holds his position, even through the awkward conversation.

“A child? You find out when it starts growing,” she says, voice utterly fed up with his apparent idiocy.

“Huh. I guess that’s a good way as any,” Tony agrees. He bends down into a half-tortoise, the words coming out a bit muffled. “Very ‘we’ll deal with the blood if there’s a body’ type of thing.”

“As if bleeding for no reason would make any sense,” Gamora counters derisively. Tony can definitely see her point.

“I know, right. Mind-blowing fuck up on Nature’s part if you ask me.”

Gamora sniffs in superiority, her toes wiggling carelessly. “Humans are an inferior species,” she says matter of factly.

“Hey! We’ve got…” Tony forms a rabbit version of himself and then decides that she might have a certain point. But he still can’t let her win, it’s a matter of pride. “Lots of good things going on for us,” he chooses to go with. “But back to my original point, you notice anything growing in your uterus-slash-whatever is the alien equivalent for it?”

“A uterus,” she informs him with a level gaze. “And I’m not a Kopkty, Tony. I don’t have those kinds of senses.”

“I have no idea what any of that meant, but alright. Waiting game it is.” Tony stretches back into a camel, realizes how prayer-like the pose is and whispers, “Fingers crossed.”

* * *

Tony doesn’t want to be _that_ guy, but the evidence is very much not in their favor. He goes with it anyways.

He points at Gamora’s belly with a green alien chip. “So. Turns out something _is_ growing in there.”

Which is a bit of an understatement and very delayed seeing as her belly has been growing for a few weeks now. Tony had, very gentlemanly-like, not said anything about it in case he was accused of calling her fat. His mother would be proud. But there is only so far they can take their ostrich strategy, and pretending there isn’t a baby coming will not help.

Not that Tony knows what _will_ help. He’s admittedly freaking out a little bit. Had actually taken the ‘ignore it until it’s unavoidable’ approach for as long as he could because, wow, yeah, there’a baby coming. His baby.

He’d never thought he’d be a dad but he most definitely had never even considered he’d get his sex-slave-roomie pregnant on an alien planet. Or that he’d have a half-alien baby.

He doesn’t even know what to do with your everyday run of the mill human baby, what’s he supposed to do with one who might have some weird alien biology or possibly magical powers? Not that Gamora has exhibited any signs of magic but, well, his brain has been going a bit wild lately.

Gamora glares at her belly then at him. “This is your fault.”

Tony nods wisely, aware of exactly how much he is to blame for this since it was his damn biology that made it happen. Also, why did they have to be so biologically compatible? Shouldn’t there be some kind of natural rule that didn’t permit inter-species mingling?

Oh god, what if their baby comes out looking like a little Frankenstein monster?

Oh, _god_ , what if the baby comes out like a little Hulk?

The mom is already green, it could be halfway there. Who knows what kind of radiation there is on this planet? He doesn’t feel any different, but what if it affects the baby in a weird way? Tony’s pretty sure he’s heard the first weeks of development are when the embryo is at its most sensitive. Isn’t that why they don’t let pregnant women drink and smoke and take x-rays? What if this alien planet is making his baby into a strange sort of mutant?

Tony sucks in a sharp breath and takes a huge bite of the orange meat to calm his thoughts. Not going there, definitely not going there.

He nods again. “Yes, I’m manning up to that. But also, before you kill me, I’d like to point out I did my best so this wouldn’t happen. Remember that? Cause I can’t be blamed if my swimmers are just as much overachievers as I am.”

Gamora glares at him without an ounce of mercy, leans forward so their faces are up close and he can see her nostrils flaring.

“When I kill you, it will be slow and painful and you will wish you had ended your miserable existence before you’d even come out of your mother’s womb,” she says, very slowly and very menacingly.

Tony gulps. Then his mouth just runs with it as usual. “That’s definitely a lot of anger I’m sensing there, Sarah Connor. Is this a preview of the next nine months?”

Gamora settles back on her chair, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Nine months?”

Tony shrugs with forced casualness. “Or less, I guess, since the baby’s grown enough you can see it. That usually happens around… No idea. When do women start showing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. This baby is coming out in two months.”

Tony freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Come again? Two— What?”

“A pregnancy lasts five months, we’re over halfway done,” Gamora explains condescendingly slowly.

Tony feels a wet glob of mash fall on his lap and distractedly cleans it up with his finger, licking it off.

“But— but— _But_! You’re so small still, how can the baby grow enough to come out in two months?”

Gamora is just as confused. “How can humans take nine whole months to grow?”

“‘Cause that’s how long it takes!” Tony says, mildly hysteric. And no one can really blame him, he doesn’t think. He was expecting to have at least a good six months of getting used to a child of his own flesh and blood coming into this god-forsaken world and now Gamora tells him he’s only got a couple at best.

Tony thinks he might go just a little insane with the added stress. His heart is not up for this. He never fully recovered from the stress of having shrapnel digging its way through to it.

Oh gosh, he can feel palpitations now.

Gamora merely snorts derisively.

“That’s ridiculous. A person can’t be expected to be inconvenienced for that long.” She spears a piece of the orange meet ferociously and doesn’t wait to swallow before she asks, fork pointing at him, “How do your people even still have women? First they bleed every month, now they’re useless for nine? How are they not getting killed?”

Miraculously, the little Pepper-voice in his head bristles at the slight and his building panic dwindles down to simmering embers.

“Whoah there. Alright, first, don’t ever tell a human woman she’s useless when she’s pregnant, that will get you stabbed with a fork faster than you can blink.” Gamora looks supremely unimpressed. Tony takes another bite of food to think about her point. “Second, I guess that’s what the husband is there for? If you’re into the whole heteronormative thing. Or the wife. Or non-binary spouse. I don’t know, G, I get lost in the alphabet soup these days.”

“They expect their partners to protect them?”

Tony shrugs, seriously not keen on having a whole feminist debate with an angry pregnant alien lady.

“Not really. Most women are pretty badass and can get on just fine. The other person is just an extra. Just to help out a bit, when they get tired and whatnot. A foot massage or something. Midnight runs for weird food cravings…”

Tony trails off, absolutely clueless about how the conversation has derailed so much from the original point.

Well, that’s what impregnating an alien woman does, he supposes. Crash courses on intercultural and biological differences. There could be worse ways to pass the time.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said this before but I will say it again,” Gamora says, greens chips crunching loudly between her teeth. “Humans are ridiculous.”

* * *

The door opens for the second time since they’ve been thrown into this whole mess, only this time, instead of two mean-looking guards waiting for them, it’s Peter who comes running into the room and straight to Tony’s arms.

Tony, frozen in shock, debating with himself the very real possibility that he’s hallucinating the whole thing after trying out that new golden berry thingy at breakfast, only has the brain capacity to fearfully say, “Peter?”

Peter has his arms thrown around Tony’s neck quicker than he can blink and Tony can barely process what is happening.

“Oh my gosh, I’m back, Tony. They brought me back. I’m here. Fuck, I missed you so much.”

Tony’s whole body snaps back to full focus then, every fibre of his being attuned to _Peter Peter Peter —_ here, safe, unharmed, _alive_.

Tony wraps his arms as tight as he can around Peter’s waist, squeezes the living breath out of him and doesn’t care, doesn’t care one bit because Peter can take it and Tony has been living in a haze of fear for the past however many months and a part of his brain had kept thinking he should’ve held on to him tighter, should’ve never let him go.

Peter holds him in just as tight, painfully so, obviously doesn’t care about bruises either. He lets out a breath that comes from such a deep place his whole body sags into Tony’s once it’s gone. It feels like they’re melding together.

Tony says, voice full of wonder, “You’re here. You’re _here_.”

“I am. I have you back, Tony.” Peter’s voice is wet and just a bit scratchy.

Tony holds him with everything he’s got, kisses Peter’s neck and shoulders and anywhere his mouth can reach without him having to give one inch of space between them.

Peter keeps murmuring reassuring words, to himself and to Tony in equal amounts. Tony’s heart clenches at the thought that the selfless idiot is still concerned with how Tony must’ve felt. But Tony’s been concerned about Peter non-stop too, so he gets it.

Eventually, they let up a bit — just the smallest amount; Tony can’t stand to give more space. Tony’s arms feel shaky with the effort but they are still unrelenting. He pulls Peter back with tremendous effort, just far enough so that he can properly see his face, examine every uncovered inch of skin, analyze every little detail that tells him that Peter is alright — hasn’t been eating nearly enough — but he’s fine. He’s fine.

Tony takes Peter’s face into the cup of his hands, touches their foreheads together because he can’t bear to be parted from his skin for too long.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Peter whispers with a reaffirming nod.

“You haven’t been eating properly,” Tony points out, only mildly accusing. He feels Peter swallow at that.

“Zukir has a really impressive metabolism.”

Tony narrows his eyes, anger stirring in his stomach. “Meaning?”

Peter licks his lips. Tony’s eyes dart to them for a bit before he lifts them back up. “She, uh, she can go for long periods of time without eating.”

Tony’s heart lurches, his fingers involuntarily dig into Peter’s cheeks and he has to consciously hold himself in check. Fuck. He knows what that means. He knows exactly what the self-sacrificing idiot did.

Still, he’s very proud of himself for the amount of control over his voice he shows when he says, “That mean you went without food as well?”

Peter tries to turn away, his eyes taking on a trapped animal kind of look, but Tony’s hands hold him in place. Peter nods with visible reluctance.

“She didn’t see the point of working for something she didn’t need.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“But it’s not too bad,” Peter rushes to reaffirm, face pleading. Always wanting to make him feel better, Tony muses wryly. “I’m alright, Tony. I’m good, see,” he adds with a trembling smile.

Tony considers him for a moment, debating whether to argue that particular point further and vent his anger in the process. Thinking better of it, he just sighs.

“Yeah.”

Peter’s not really alright and they both know it. But he will be. Tony will make damn sure he will. And besides, he just got Peter back, he doesn’t want to be fighting about this.

“We’ll fix that, okay? We’ll get you in tiptop shape soon.”

“Yeah.”

Peter drops his gaze, bites his lower lip, then raises his eyes back up to Tony. There’s a myriad of emotions flashing through them, too fast for Tony to catch, and Peter looks back down before he settles on one.

“I missed you,” Peter finally says, his voice a hesitant whisper, lips trembling with emotion. 

Tony smiles back at him with something almost painfully honest. He rubs his thumbs over Peter’s cheeks, kisses him once, twice, small, forceful things because he just can’t handle not to anymore.

Tony doesn’t bother lacing his voice with anything but the truth. “I missed you so much, Pete. I’m really glad you’re okay.”

He kisses him again, a goofy smile growing on his lips. He can’t believe Peter is finally here, with him, in his arms where Tony can make sure that he’s safe and taken care of.

Then his brain finally catches up to the fact that Peter really is _here_.

“How are you here? Why are you here? Why didn’t they take us all back to that sorry excuse of a show to change partners again? I thought the whole ‘let the people vote’ thing had been a success,” Tony adds, contempt lacing his words.

“They, uh, apparently the people have been asking for it? We have fans,” Peter says, a certain level of amusement in his tone mixed with a heavy dose of scorn.

“Fans,” Tony deadpans.

Peter hums. “Yup. Not just ‘cause of the whole sex thing, but, uh. You know. They ship us.”

Tony pulls back so he can get a good look at Peter’s face. “You serious right now?”

“Oh yeah.” Peter nods, a forced smile in his lips. “The Grandmaster video called, it was a whole thing. Did you not get a call?”

Tony most certainly did not. He thinks it’s a good thing too because he probably would have had some words for the Grand asshole and then he’d be too dead to see Peter.

He settles for simply saying, “No.”

“Dramatic effect, I’m guessing,” Peter adds with a forcefully careless shrug.

Tony hums dryly. “All about the ratings.” What has their life even become.

“You know it. So, yeah. The fans have apparently been asking for a reunion so. Ta da.”

“Holy shit. This might seriously be the first time I’ve ever been glad for people trying to ship me with every other Avenger.”

Peter snorts, then a small, real smile starts to bloom at the corner of his mouth. “No kidding. I’m really glad we’re ship-able.”

Tony smirks, leans forward until their noses touch, whispers, “That’s not a word.”

“I just made it a word,” Peter cheekily counters, then is betrayed but a shuddering breath. “That’s how language comes about, you know. Someone makes up a word and, magic! It’s officially a word.”

“I don’t think I missed your smart-ass mouth,” Tony teases

“I think you really, really did,” Peter says, leaning closer still, eyes going from Tony’s lips to his eyes then back down again.

Tony closes the distance and kisses Peter for all he’s got, pouring all his pent-up feelings for the past months into the kiss. Tony kisses like he missed him, like he worried for him, like he wanted him. Tony kisses with more, with feelings he’s not ready to dig too deep into, but they shine through anyways.

“That took a while,” Gamora dryly pipes up.

Tony doesn’t jump, but it’s a close thing. Peter does a bit.

Tony had seriously forgotten all about her. Peter had obviously not even noticed she was sitting on the table in his rush to get to Tony as soon as he’d gotten into the room.

“You still have a roommate,” Peter comments, surprised. Tony had missed the way he had with understating any given situation. “A pregnant roommate.”

Tony winces at the twinge of hurt he thinks he hears. Or maybe that’s just the guilt he feels marring his interpretation. Not that he has any reason to feel guilty, obviously. It’s not like any of this was up to them or that Tony was cheating on Peter with Gamora or that there was even a relationship between them to begin with to justify said actions to be counted as cheating.

Nope, no reason whatsoever.

And yet, the pang of guilt is undeniable. Tony is intimately familiar with all things guilt related, there’s no hiding from it even within his own head.

“Yeah. So, that happened, obviously,” Tony very eloquently states. “This is Gamora. She has a boyfriend named Peter who’s half-human, half-totally-not-human and she was very generous not to kill me after I knocked her up. Totally accidental, by the way.”

Peter seems to lose some of the unease after Tony’s rambling. Gamora simply raises a mocking brow in his direction.

“Hello, Tony’s Peter.”

“Uh. Hi. Hello. You’re… how far along? Sorry, it’s just that you’re bigger than I’d expect and— Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to call you fat, I don’t think you’re fat at all, I just mean your belly is big. Your pregnant belly! Oh my god, please don’t kill me.”

Gamora takes a bite of some carrot-shaped things which taste like fried egg and she’s been hoarding for when she gets hungry during the day.

“I was right. Humans are idiots,” she dryly points out. “And Peters ramble too much. You’re cute though.”

“Does that mean you won’t kill me?” Peter asks meekly.

“She won’t kill you,” Tony replies when Gamora takes pleasure in keeping quiet and making Peter squirm. “And by our guess she’s close to five months but almost due. How crazy is that? Alien biology, amirite?”

He’s given up trying to understand the way Gamora’s pregnancy works, to be honest. Sure, she’s much bigger than he’d expect what with not actually knowing anything about pregnant women, but he’s also sure that the ones that are about to pop like she is are way bigger. Maybe green alien babies just come out small?

He’s also noticed that she gets uncomfortable sometimes when he asks too many questions, and he realized after a while that it’s probably because she doesn’t know the answers herself. She did say she was taken from her planet quite young, so there’s bound to be a lot of information she’s missing.

Tony’s decided to adopt her stance on wait and see. It’s garnered him mixed results so far.

Gamora simply rolls her eyes and chews obnoxiously.

Tony flicks his hand at her and drags Peter down onto to bed, sitting so close to him it’s almost like they’re trying to become one person.

Peter looks at him with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Wha— Really? That is so cool. Even with a half-human baby? How that does work? I mean, obviously it works cause,” he says, gesturing to her big belly. “But also, do you have any idea how the baby will turn out? More human, more… I’m sorry, what species are you again?”

“Zehoberei.”

Huh. Tony feels a little bit bad for not knowing that. He’s a terrible roommate. First he goes and gets her pregnant, then he doesn’t bother asking what species his baby will be half of.

Peter nods. “Cool. Cool. So…?”

Tony raises his hands in defense.

“Don’t look at me, I have no idea. And so far Gamora has been taking a very ‘wait and see’ approach to this whole thing.”

Tony also wisely chooses not to share how he’s been having small anxiety attacks every other day over the same thing.

Gamora rolls her eyes at them. “How am I supposed to know? My species have never mixed with a human before. At least as far as I know.” She shrugs. “And I never wanted children so I obviously never thought about what would happen if I had them with my Peter. We’ll see what happens when the baby comes out. Which could be any time now,” she adds in an annoyed tone, tapping her belly pointedly. “I blame the human side for the tardiness.”

“It’s not even been five months, Gamora. You said five.”

“And you can’t even keep count of the days so you’re not one to talk.”

Tony tips his head in acknowledgment. “That’s a fair point, I’ve grown too complacent with other people to count for me. Hey, Pete, how long have we been gone from Earth?”

“Four hundred and thirty-six days.”

Tony blinks at him.

“Well, with that depressing thought, I think it’s time for a shower. You’re joining me.”

Tony jumps up and drags Peter along, still adamantly refusing to let him go.

Gamora waves her fingers at them casually and smirks.

Peter looks at Tony and then stops, hard enough that Tony jerks back with the force of it.

“Whoah there, spideroo.”

Peter squints at him. “Are those braids in your beard?”

“Are you only noticing them now?”

Tony tugs on them automatically, a weird habit he’s picked up since Gamora decided to add five braids to his now fully grown beard. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hate them. It definitely beats the shaggy look he’d had going on before.

He really misses his razor and his meticulously kept goatee.

“Forgive me if I was a bit busy hugging the life out of you after a hundred and sixty-three days without seeing you. But seriously. Braids?”

Tony shrugs. “Gamora says it’s tradition for the father to be to braid his beard, something about good luck for the baby.”

Peter looks at Gamora and then back at Tony.

“You do realize she was fucking with you, right?”

Tony blinks at him.

No, he had not, in fact, realized she had been fucking with him. In his defense, he’d been too busy trying to make her happy enough so that she didn’t want to kill him as often.

He turns to her in affront. “You serious, lime pie?”

Gamora raises one of her stupidly eloquent brows. “You’re too easy.”

Peter laughs and laughs and laughs, and Tony doesn’t even care that he’s laughing at him because he’s laughing. Tony had almost forgotten what that sounded like, had almost lost hope he’d get to hear it again.

Tony flips them both off before dragging Peter back to the shower. He decides to keep the braids.

* * *

Somehow they had thought that now that there’s three of them in the room, one of whom a very pregnant woman, they’d get a break on the whole working for your food shtick.

Clearly, they were very wrong about that.

The first day Peter was back, Tony took him to bed, fucked him nice and slow and— actually, the correct word is probably made love. There’s no going around that. Tony made love to Peter for hours, both of them completely lost in each other, uncaring that Gamora was watching the whole thing. Privacy had been the first thing they lost to this place, the first victim. Rest in peace social shame.

Gamora unceremoniously kicked them off the bed when they were done, claimed the whole thing for herself and spread out like an eagle while she took a nap.

That night there were only two plates of food.

They made do, but Peter was still too thin for Tony’s liking and Gamora’s usual bigger portion since the pregnancy started showing was missing and her appetite was still strong. Tony went to bed without dinner that night and stubbornly ignored both their complaints.

The next day, there were only two plates at breakfast. Tony took a piece of alien bread, the purple one which was his favorite, under the puppy-dog eyes look from Peter and the narrow glare from Gamora.

That afternoon, Tony took Gamora to bed and let her have her way with him. Then he took Peter in the shower and sunk down to his knees while he sucked him off.

At dinner, there were only two plates.

Tony looks at the two breakfast plates that get delivered that morning and lets out a heartfelt sigh.

“Fucking bastards.”

Gamora glares at the nearest camera, then picks out a piece of fruit and chews on it very menacingly. Somehow pregnancy makes her scarier.

Peter looks at the food mournfully. “This isn’t fair.”

Tony very maturely doesn’t snap at him that life isn’t fair, that being locked up and turned into a sex slave most definitely isn’t fair.

He takes a deep breath. Being hungry makes him snarky. Or snarky-er.

“Alright then, nothing for it. We know what to do. Let’s just eat and get this done with.”

Gamora cocks up an eyebrow in his direction. “You’re alright with me fucking your Peter?”

Tony ignores the little something that sparks up whenever she calls him ‘his Peter’.

“No,” he honestly replies. “But no one is asking if we’re alright with any of this, are they? So let’s just suck it up and get some proper food on this table.”

Peter snorts. “Suck it up. I missed your dorky puns.”

Tony blinks, he hadn’t even thought about it. He shrugs, then extends the plate to Peter who is sprawled out on the bed seeing as their jailers weren’t thoughtful enough to bring in a third chair for them.

“Eat your pink fruits and then you can come suck me off.”

Gamora finishes first, devouring her food in one go. Tony and Peter argue over who should get the last piece of jhalik — one of the fruits Gamora recognizes and insists they call by their proper names rather than ‘the pink mash’ or the ‘grey start thingy’. Tony wins and Peter sulks his way through a mouthful of the fruit, sweet blue juice dribbling down his chin.

Tony kisses it off of him, then moves up to capture Peter’s mouth once he’s chewed. He directs them towards the bed. Gamora is already waiting for them, naked, one arm bent behind her head and a curious smirk in place.

Peter pulls Tony’s dress off, then his own tunic. Tony drops to the bed and scoots up, kisses Gamora playfully. She smiles at him through the kiss, indulgent, then pushes him back onto the pillows.

Tony watches as she prowls towards Peter, all dangerous sensuality despite her grown belly. Peter bites his lips nervously, eyes darting from Tony to Gamora and back. Gamora pauses for a beat when she reaches him, them dives for his lips, hands very firmly keeping him in place as she explores.

Peter lets out a sound of surprise which quickly transforms into a moan. Tony smirks, very aware of how talented those lips are.

He looks at them, the man he— Peter, his Peter and Gamora, and thinks _they look good_. Hot as hell, actually.

Strangely, there’s none of the jealousy or possessiveness he was expecting and he realizes that he’d been honest before, he really didn’t want to watch Gamora and Peter have sex, but it wasn’t for those reasons at all. What really bothers him about this is the lack of control they have over their own lives. He hates it that they’re forced to play this game. He hates it even more that Peter is forced to.

It probably makes him a bad person but… Gamora can take it. Tony knows she can, just like he himself can take it. They’ve seen the world at it’s worst and they can do sex as a purely physical thing without a problem — which is precisely why they’d gotten along so well in that department.

But Peter is different. Peter is innocent and pure, no matter how many times he tries to argue with Tony otherwise. Peter still thinks that life should be fair, that they should be treated a certain way because they’re _people_ and everyone deserves respect and consideration.

Peter will probably ask Tony not to kill his way out of here when they do get out.

So no, he hadn’t wanted to have Peter sleep with yet another person he didn’t choose to. But he can’t protect him from everything and… well, at least it looks like Peter’s enjoying himself.

Peter’s moans turn to gasps when Gamora touches his dick, skillful hand stroking him firmly. Tony takes himself in hand leisurely, enjoying the sight. He knows Peter is close, can hear it in his breathing and the sounds he’s making. He’s always so sensitive, his Peter.

Tony licks his lips, hand stroking up and down his cock. He gets some lube from the side of the bed, coats two fingers in, and then slides them into himself. He feels the stretch like he hasn’t in a while. It’s been a few months and he’d forgotten, almost. It feels damn good though.

Peter looks up from kissing Gamora, catches Tony’s eyes, moans loudly when he tracks Tony’s movements. Then he comes right on Gamora’s hand.

Tony closes his eyes in pleasure. Fuck, that was hot.

He feels a shift next to him and then Peter covers Tony’s body with his and kisses him passionately, all tongue and teeth and desire.

Tony pulls back, smirks. He pushes him off gently and scoots over to Gamora, getting on his knees in front of her, ass towards Peter. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Gamora whose response is to shove him down onto her.

Tony dutifully licks his way into her while Peter, smart man that he is, starts using his fingers on Tony, teasing him open. Tony’s moans of pleasure get muffled by the press of Gamora’s thighs on his head.

“Tony… Fuck.”

Tony lifts his head up, wipes away the wetness on his chin with a finger, turns to look at Peter in invitation. “Ready?”

Peter bobs his head eagerly but doesn’t seem to be capable of any more words.

Tony chuckles as he gets up, pushes Peter down onto his back, Gamora’s amused gaze following him the whole way. Tony slides onto Peter’s cock in one swift motion, gasping at the tightness.

Peter utters a breathless “ _Fuck”_ before his hands come to grip Tony’s hips and hold him in place, adjusting.

Tony tilts his head at Gamora, teasingly asks, “You joining?”

“Am I on top?”

“Aren’t you always?”

She smirks, moves towards him, still graceful despite the added roundness. Tony lies back onto Peter’s torso, Peter laying open mouthed kisses on every patch of skin he can find. Gamora smiles at them indulgently, lets Tony roll his hips a few times to get properly stretched, then sits on him and slides his dick into herself in a slow, deliberate move.

Tony sees stars. He’s done this before, of course — has actually probably done everything there is to do when it comes to sex — but it’s been years and years and, somehow, caring about the people he’s with changes something.

“Fucking hell that feels amazing. Neither of your stop,” he manages to rasp out.

Gamora’s reply is a dry, amused chuckle; Peter’s is a sharp bite on his neck and a snap of his hips upwards. Tony swears a blue streak.

After that, he loses all conscious thought. All he can tell is the feel of Peter in him, beneath him, around him. Gamora on top of him, consuming him, using him. Tony feels full from every angle, every inch of skin burning with pleasure.

They move in a mess of limbs and determination, finding their coordination more easily than would be reasonable but sticking to it and, oh god, Tony is not gonna last very long at all.

He reaches for Gamora’s clit blindly, feels her hand catch his and direct him towards where she wants him. Tony’s fingers move in the soft circles he’s learned she likes while his hips drive up and down in a snapping motion. Peter’s hands hold him tight, angling Tony’s body so that Peter’s cock reaches his prostate with every move.

Tony is all moans and grunts, barely processes anything else besides the feel of Peter in him and Gamora on top of him, can only focus on not stopping his fingers and not coming too soon.

Gamora’s breath hitches and she starts to move faster. Tony’s fingers struggle to keep up with her, his hips snapping up sharply.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s it, G, take what you want.”

Peter gasps. “Fuck that’s hot. Tony, shit. Shit, I’m gonna come.”

“Come in me, baby. Come one, let it go.”

Tony waits until Gamora’s walls contract around his dick, her whole body shaking, and then he can’t hold it in anymore. He comes with a gasp, hips shuddering up, ass clenching tight on Peter’s cock. Peter grunts, says Tony’s name like a prayer, holds his hips tight as he comes inside of him in long waves.

Gamora gets off of him with a sigh of contentment and lies down on her side, eyes falling shut.

Tony sags bonelessly against Peter, blindly pulling Peter’s arms around himself. His lips curl up automatically as he struggles to catch his breath, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Peter kisses his neck, his shoulder, his cheek, anywhere he can find.

“That was fucking hot,” Peter whispers, voice reverent but also a bit scared.

Tony understands the feeling. It’s scary to bring someone else into their bed, to fit so well together. They don’t want to lose each other, don’t want to lose what they have. Of course it’s scary. But, in this case, Gamora is not here to stay, so Tony is not scared.

He stretches his neck back, tilts his head to give Peter a sloppy kiss, still refusing to let him slip out of him.

“She’s a good roomie,” he says, hoping Peter will understand.

Tony thinks he does. Peter holds him tighter, then says, voice smiling, “I think we can keep her for a bit.”

“And I think I could kill you both in your sleep,” Gamora casually remarks. Tony looks at her but her eyes are still closed, her body completely relaxed.

“But you won’t, right, mean bean? ‘Cause you like us? Come on, I know I’m your favorite sex slave buddy.” Tony jokes.

She shrugs one shoulder. “Eh. Three people in one bed is a bit overcrowded. I might have to choose one of you to...” she makes a neck-breaking motion with her hands, then lets them fall heavily on her round stomach.

Tony cheerfully ignores her and turns back to Peter.

“She definitely likes us. It’s when she doesn’t threaten you at least once a day that you have to worry.”

* * *

Tony is sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, diligently massaging Gamora’s slightly swollen feet. Gamora lets out periodic sounds of appreciation which Tony takes great pleasure in. Pepper had been a big fan of foot massages and she’d made damn sure Tony could give a great one with one hand tied behind his back and both eyes closed.

Gamora is propped up on their two pillows, plus all their towels pilled up together into one unstable mountain, and has decided to braid Peter’s hair while stubbornly refusing to move from her comfortable spot. The result is arms bent at awkward angles and a few sounds of pain which are quickly muffled because Peter is a very smart man.

Tony wonders idly at the picture they make. What are their ‘fans’ thinking as they watch the three of them?

Then he very quickly decides to cut off that line of thought. It’s still creepy as hell to know that they’re being watched constantly, that there’s always a chance someone is chilling at home while eating the alien version of popcorn and watching them be all domestic.

Personally, he thinks the masturbating to watching them have sex is way less weird. He’s got experience with sex tapes, after all, it’s made him quite jaded in that aspect.

It’s the gross invasion of his privacy — of the soft, quiet, vulnerable moments — that leaves an uncomfortable feeling that stubbornly sticks to every inch of his skin.

Tony sighs.

“This is getting kind of old,” he says, breaking the peaceful quiet.

“You put this baby in me, you better not stop massaging my feet,” Gamora lazily says. Not even mildly threatening, he bemusedly thinks. That’s the level of placidity they’ve reached.

Tony dutifully digs a little harder at the arch of her feet and is rewarded with a sound of appreciation so deeply felt that the bed vibrates with it.

“I didn’t mean this now. I meant all this.” He makes an all-encompassing gestures which results in Gamora’s feet being dragged along into a wide loop since he’s wisely chosen not to stop massaging them.

Gamora glares at him half-heartedly for the unnecessary manhandling. “Did you eat too much tzwar again? I told you that makes you see things if you eat too much of it. Not all species can handle it.”

“He means being a slave. Right?”Peter lifts his head up a bit, then winces when Gamora doesn’t budge and ends up pulling at the little strands of hair she’s weaving together. He falls back onto the bed with a dull thud.“Or is it the porn star thing in particular? ‘Cause that really does get old, I’ll be honest. I seriously never thought I’d get tired of having too much sex,” Peter says. He sounds properly dejected too, like a kid finding out there’s such a thing as too much candy.

Tony straightens his back, his vertebrae popping satisfactorily. “That too. Believe me, I didn’t think it was possible either when I was your age. Then I discovered cuddling.”

“I like cuddling,” Peter agrees with a wistful sigh.

Gamora snorts but doesn’t contradict them, which is answer enough.

Tony makes a sound in agreement. “But also, I’m really over this whole kidnapping situation, you know? Been there too many times in my life for my liking.”

Tony can still remember the first time — five-years-old and still learning not to expect much from his father. There’d been a considerable ransom demand before SHIELD had found him and leveled the place.

Aunt Peggy had been shrouded in a mist of glorious fury, bursting into the cliché warehouse with her guns blazing, kicking ass and ordering her agents like a seasoned general. He’d been wrapped in her arms since she’s found him huddled up in a corner until she’s delivered him to his parents.

His mom had hugged him fiercely and wet his hair with tears. From his dad, he received a lecture for letting himself be taken, and that was it.

“I don’t know if we can still be called kidnapped what with having been bought and all that,” Peter points out mildly. “Perhaps we were kidnapped at first, but also, is it kidnapping if they never plan on giving you back in return for money?”

“No,” Gamora says. “Simple abduction. Or theft, if they consider you things rather than people.”

“Well aren’t you two a ray of sunshine today. Speaking of, I really fucking miss the sun. A window would be nice,” Tony adds, louder, a pointed look at the nearest camera.

It’s taken as well as all his other requests.

“We probably have really bad vitamin D deficiency,” Peter says, sounding appropriately morose. “I don’t want to get osteoporosis at thirty, guys. That’s just depressing.”

Tony sends him a purposefully lecherous look. “Would it make you feel better if I point out that you’ve gotten plenty of the D lately?”

Peter groans very loudly and very painfully. He points a vicious finger in Tony’s direction without rising from the bed again. “No, Tony. No. You’re not allowed to make creepy puns. And especially not while the baby can hear you.”

Tony thinks the likelihood of the baby _still inside Gamora’s uterus_ hearing his stupid jokes let alone understanding them is incredibly low. He sends Peter a lascivious grin which Peter unfortunately misses because his eyes are closed while Gamora keeps twisting thin strands of his hair into increasingly intricate-looking braids.

“Do you want me to strangle him? Just a little bit?” Gamora casually drawls.

Tony sends Gamora an affronted look. “Oh the betrayal, my little praying mantis. And to the father of your own unborn child.” He tuts dramatically. She promptly kicks him.

Peter snorts out a laugh, the traitor. “I think that was punishment enough. You’re strong.”

Gamora makes a pleased sound and then wiggles her feet demandingly.

Tony obliges her with a heavy sigh. “I’m serious, though. This whole thing sucks some really Hulk-sized balls. I mean, there’s no car battery attached to my chest, or a hole in it either, but. Still not great, ya know?”

Peter hums in commiserating understanding while Gamora gives him an assessing look.

“You’ve led a strange life, Tony,” she finally comments.

“Didn’t you say you were kidnapped too?”

Gamora replies in her driest tone. “Thanos killed half of my people and then took me with him and raised me as his daughter slash personally crafted assassin.”

There’s a beat of silence and then, “She wins, Tony,” Peter says.

Tony nods in numb agreement. “Yup. Fair and square.”

* * *

The day the baby is born comes sooner than expected. Gamora gives them both a look when they ask her what they can do, if she needs help, should they bring her cool towels for her forehead? What do people even _do_ during childbirth?

“I’m not useless,” she snaps at them. “I can take care of this myself. What would you two idiots even do?”

Which is a fair point. Tony thinks of all the animals back on earth who obviously don’t need any help. Sometimes Gamora acts more feral-like than anything so, the comparison is at least a little bit valid. Besides, what does he know about alien women? Or human women, for that matter?

The answer is clearly not much, so Tony takes a step back and lets her do her thing.

Which apparently includes going to the shower and just… standing there?

Peter sends him a helpless look and Tony can only reply with a befuddled shake of his head.

Gamora is unsurprisingly not as vocal as Tony has heard women can be. She is, however, extremely angry. Tony keeps hearing some very colorful words along the lines of, “If this baby’s head is as big as yours I am going to shove Peter’s head up your ass so you see how it feels coming out,” and, “If you even get near me any time soon I will rip off your dick with my bare hands and feed it back to you until you choke on it,” — which the running water, unfortunately, doesn’t drown out.

Tony’s gulps. Peter holds his hand in sympathy and also probably a good amount of fear for the sake of his head.

It takes less time than he’d been expecting, to be honest.

“I thought it would take hours? I’m pretty sure my mom complained about me taking 16 hours to come out,” Tony feels the need to say when Gamora’s grunts have become closer together.

“Are you serious? If this baby took anywhere near that long I would rip it out myself.”

Tony thinks that’s another fair point.

“I don’t think it’s the time so much as the dilation,” Peter whispers. “In Grey’s Anatomy they always say ten centimeters.”

Tony levels him with an amused look. “Is that what you spent your nights watching?”

Peter nods seriously. “Thursdays. Aunt May is a big fan. TGIT night is non-negotiable, not even for Spider-Man business.”

“I don’t actually want to know what that means.”

Peter shrugs a single, superior shoulder. “You’re missing out. Shonda is the queen.”

Tony purposefully ignores him. Then Gamora’s grunts become more pronounced and pained-like and Tony winces.

“You sure you don’t need help?” he tentatively asks.

He hears her sharp inhales and exhales, a final loud, incredibly long scream, and then, after a long pause, “Bring me a fucking towel.”

Tony is a bit thunderstruck for a second, brain sluggishly processing what that means.

Then the baby starts crying and Tony springs to his feet like he’s been electrocuted. He looks at Peter in complete shock, paralyzed.

Peter’s eyes are just as wide as Tony’s, but then a bright grin spreads through his lips and he jumps up to give Tony a hug.

“That’s so awesome! Go give her a towel.”

Tony numbly does as he’s told, approaching the shower with hesitant feet.

Gamora looks up at him from the floor which she’s apparently decided is the perfect place to give birth in. The water is off now, only a few last rivulets of blood flowing down towards the drain.The cord is cut and Tony decides he doesn’t want to know how Gamora managed it.

She extends a hand for the towel, wrapping it around the tiny baby in her arms.

A girl. Tony has a little baby girl. For a second he just stares, mind completely blank.

The baby really is very tiny, and Tony thinks he understands now why the pregnancy is much shorter and the delivery much quicker. His heart twists a bit in concern but she doesn’t look like those premies with see-through skin and visibly beating hearts, so he thinks it must be just the way she is.

Tony drops to the floor next to her.

“That’s… Wow. Our baby.”

Gamora doesn’t deign to look at him but that’s alright, Tony himself is too busy with staring at his baby.

She’s so small and… green. Definitely green, but not at all Hulk-like as he’d feared, or even the bright green of Gamora’s skin. She’s more of an olive color, lighter than her mother, darker than Tony. She’s got two eyes and two ears and the cutest little button nose and rosy pink lips and… Not at all like he’d been afraid of. She’s perfect.

Tony falls in love immediately.

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “Peter. Pete, come look at her.”

Peter kneels down behind Tony, chin on his shoulder, hand resting on Tony’s waist, warm and supportive.

“Wow. She’s so cute.”

Gamora hums and smiles at the baby. “She’ll be strong. Even with her half-human side,” she says, but Tony knows she’s joking and the way she kisses the baby after and whispers in her ear tell him she really doesn’t mean it at all.

Gamora sits up a bit straighter with a small wince of pain. Then Tony finds himself with an armful of towel-wrapped baby.

“I need to rest,” she says, making her way for the bed.

Tony’s eyes follow after her and he catches her stiff movements. He winces. Ouch. So very glad he’s not a woman.

What Tony assumes is the placenta is left behind on the floor. Tony mentally calls ‘not it’ on dealing with it.

“She looks like you,” Peter says, voice low and filled with awe.

Tony turns back to look at the baby, suddenly aware this is probably the first time he’s held one. He very carefully doesn’t drop her in fright. It’s no small feat.

But yes, he can see it a little bit. She’s definitely got his eyes, more almond shaped. His lips also. But Gamora’s nose and cheekbones. He thinks she’s more a mix of them both and a whole lot of squishy baby face at the moment. But also the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Tony smiles brightly. “My beautiful little girl. Can you believe it, Pete?”

“Yeah, actually,” Peter says, surprising him. Tony turns to him and is met with a soft look. Loving, maybe, if he could bring himself to think of it in those terms.

Tony rests his head against Peter’s shoulder, angling the baby so Peter can see her without a problem. Peter hugs him and lets out a contented sigh.

“She really is perfect.”

Tony’s smile tastes like honey on his lips. “Like a little olive.”

“That’s a cute name. What is her name, actually? I think you guys skipped over that part.”

Tony blinks. “Oh. Guess we did.” He runs a gentle finger over the baby’s forehead, down her little nose. She twists it comically, eyes converging in the middle as she chases his finger. Tony chuckles warmly. “What should we name you, baby girl?”

She just looks at him owlishly, no help at all.

“I don't know what an olive is but it's as good a name as any,” Gamora murmurs from the bed. Tony very nearly jumps; he thought she was already asleep.

He turns to her. “Yeah? Cause let me tell you, I have a history with naming things.”

JARVIS, DUM-E, U, Butterfingers, FRIDAY, BARF… He thinks they’re cool but most people have a comment or two about his terrible naming choices. He’s not sure he’s the best person to name a tiny human. Or half-human. 

Gamora lifts up a casual shoulder. “Why not. If you like it.”

“Don’t you want a traditional name from your culture or something?”

“I was taken from my planet when I was seven,” Gamora’s dryly replies. Tony gives her a sympathetic look but she waves it away, closes her eyes again. “So no, I don’t even remember what traditional names we have. Name her what you want.”

Tony decides Gamora very obviously doesn’t want to talk about her people so he wisely doesn’t push it.

“Olive it is then. It’s cute. What do you think, Pete?”

“Definitely fits.”

Tony smiles. “It does.”

Olive starts to squirm in his lap, tiny hands reaching blindly for his chest.

“Uh-oh. Here, you take her.” Tony passes her on to Peter who looks just as bewildered as Tony had at first and Tony spares a moment to think that it looks like they’re all playing one long game of hot potato.

He gets to his feet, too scared to do it with Olive in his arms, then gets her back from Peter and takes her to the bed, placing her next to Gamora.

“I think she’s hungry.”

Gamora smiles softly and also maybe… a little sad? Tony can’t fathom why, but then the look is gone and she reaches for Olive and puts her on her breast as if she’s always known how to do it.

Tony realizes in this moment just how much of a badass she really is.

He settles on the bed with his back against the wall and Peter comes to lie between his legs. The four of them must make quite a picture, Tony muses.

Later, when Olive is full and asleep in between them, Gamora snoring softly on her side of the bed, Peter breathing deeply between Tony’s legs, a sure sign he’s also asleep, Tony allows himself to properly take it all in.

He’d never thought he would have this. Had obviously never thought that he would have it this way — alien planet, alien mother of his child, Peter as his lover, budding career as porn stars — but, all things considered, it’s definitely… nice. Some things are certainly more than nice, but Tony is not ready to label them with such big words yet. Maybe not until they leave this place and he can be sure they won’t be taken away.

But for now, just like this, this weird family of theirs, it’s certainly all quite nice.

* * *

The door opens and wakes them all up. Peter jumps to his feet, Gamora sits up with her back to Olive, guarding her. Tony takes Olive in his arms, perfectly aware that he’s the weakest fighter and desperate to protect his baby.

Two guards come into the room, making it even more cramped. One he recognizes from their trip to meet the Grandmaster, the other is new to him.

The first one quickly scans the room, then catches Tony with the baby and extends his arms for her.

Tony feels his heart plummet and then start to race as if running for its life, a cold shiver running down his spine. He holds Olive closer to him, steps further away from them until his back hits the wall.

The guard’s expression doesn’t change. “Give her.”

Peter and Gamora act as one — one moment watching and waiting, the next jumping at the guards and attacking them, no punches pulled. The guards are strong, big burly troll-like types, all thick skin and bulging muscles. Gamora and Peter look like they could be squashed beneath their two pinkies in comparison, which is why Tony catches both of the guards looking surprised when they get hit and hit hard.

Tony curls up around Olive, feeling completely useless with nowhere to go and no real means of protecting her. He’s desperately missing his suit more than at any other given time so far, but every instinct in his body is screaming at him that he has to do something. He can’t let them take her. He can’t.

Gamora and Peter have the guards on the floor and unconscious— at least in Peter’s case, Tony thinks Gamora might have killed hers — in a matter of seconds. It’s all quite impressive, really, except there’s a sudden commotion down the hall and then more guards storm into their already crowded room, all five with their weapons pointed at them.

Tony feels every drop of blood leave his face.

“Guys…”

“We can take them, Tony,” Peter says, determination showing in his every fiber.

Gamora sends him an appreciative look, visibly impressed and surprised with his strength, something they’d been quite careful not to mention. She looks absolutely eager to wipe the floor with the guards.

Peter stands strong and proud and defiant, and Tony knows that he’ll give his life fighting for this — fighting for them. Tony knows. He would do the same thing.

But he can’t let that happen. He can’t let Peter sacrifice himself like that, can’t let Gamora do the same either.

Tony has every instinct in his body screaming at him to fight, to kill his way through the army of guards and leave this planet in a blaze. But he knows they wouldn’t make it far at all.

They have no plan, no knowledge of the building they’re in except that it’s the Grandmaster’s freaking tower, they know nothing about the outside world. They could be trapped in a maze far worse than this one and the only end would be their deaths. And then what would happen to Olive?

No. They’ll get out of here — he has to believe that they’ll get out of here. Gamora said her people would come, they just have to be patient.

They’ll make it out, and when they do, they will find her. They’ll get their baby back.

They have to.

“Gamora,” he says quietly, pleadingly. 

She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes for a long moment, assessing. Tony tries his best to convey everything without speaking, one simple word of plea and a bid to understand.

Gamora eyes the five guards again, hands tightening into fists. Then she stands straighter, releases a frustrated breath.

“Alright,” she concedes.

Tony breathes easier.

“What?” Peter eyes them both in shock, body still poised to fight. “No, guys. No. We can take them.”

“Not today, Peter,” Gamora grits out, like it physically pains her. She meets Tony’s eyes, searchingly.

Tony nods, a silent promise. He kisses Olive’s forehead, passes her to Gamora’s arms. Gamora whispers something to her, kisses her cheek, and then hands her to the nearest guard.

“One day I will find every single one of you, and that is the day you will wish you had killed me the moment I set foot on this planet,” she says, voice equal parts calm and absolutely deadly. “If any harm comes to her, I will burn this planet to the ground. Tell your Grandmaster _that_.”

The guards leave without a word, carrying their fallen comrades along. Olive makes a sound of complain that pierces Tony to the depths of his soul.

Gamora watches them until the door is closed, then turns without a word and heads for the shower.

Tony looks at Peter, closes his eyes in grief when Peter immediately wraps him in his arms.

“Why, Tony? We could have taken them. I know we could have.”

“Those five, yes, and maybe the five after those. But you couldn’t fight every person in this tower, Pete. Not like this,” he adds in a voiceless murmur. “Patience, remember?”

Peter nods mutely, then again and again until his head is just bobbing up and down Tony’s shoulder. Tony runs a soothing hand over his back until Peter finally exhales shakily.

“Okay. Okay. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” Peter says, psyching himself up.

Tony nods, offers him a weak smile. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

His heart feels like it’s being ripped to shreds in his chest.

* * *

They take Gamora a week later.

She’s not even had time to recover from childbirth. Tony and Peter have been sharing their food with her because they’re obviously not willing to hurt her after she pushed a literal half-human half-alien head out of her vagina. It’s not enough, not nearly enough to get by during a whole week, but it’s a sacrifice they have to make.

Besides, Peter and Tony have a hard enough time having sex with each other after their baby was taken from them like it was nothing, Tony cannot imagine what Gamora must be feeling after carrying her for five months.

This — more than watching Peter starve, definitely more than starving himself, more than having to transform his relationship with Peter, more than having him taken away for those horrible months — this is what really gets to Tony.

He got to hold his baby girl for all of half a day before she was practically ripped from his arms. He’d been a dad for only a few hours and he already screwed it up. How the fuck is he supposed to just go on with business as usual when he has no idea what’s happening to his daughter?

But that’s the whole point, right? They have to. They’re slaves — and Tony has had months and months to get used to that simple word being applied to himself and it’s become nothing more than another thing to define him. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Except that now, only one of those still holds true, the others replaced with a single truth: he’s a slave. And a sex slave, at that.

So it doesn’t matter what they think, it doesn’t matter what they want, it won’t change that simple fact. Until they manage to find a way out of here — which is devastatingly impossible to do by themselves, as time has shown — nothing matters except survival.

And so, even if it’s the last thing they’re in the mood for, Peter and Tony have to put food on the table. They can give Gamora a break, they can do that much at least, but that too won’t be for long at all, not when they have three mouths to feed on four plates a day, one of whom with a super-spider metabolism.

Unfortunately, they don’t get the chance to get that far.

The day they take Gamora, the Grandmaster video calls them, his face an absurd mockery of contrition. The holograph projects right by the table and Tony spares a moment to think how ridiculous he looks with a metal table sticking out from his legs.

“Oh, you poor things. Don’t be sad.” He gives them a pouty look that’s possibly supposed to be comforting but fails miserably. “These things happen, you know? All part of showbiz.”

_Showbiz_? Tony wants to strangle him. He wants to bust through the unbreakable door, find the bastard, and rip his head from his body before he throws him off the window and watches him splatter onto the ground.

Instead, he simply snorts derisively.

“Is a baby not good for the ratings?” he can’t help but snark, contempt dripping from his every word. “Breeding and pregnancy kink, yes, actual result of that, not so much, huh?”

“Exactly.” The Grandmaster snaps his fingers, looking pleased with Tony’s apparent understanding. “Pesky little things, babies. So demanding, and definitely not sexy accessories. Can you imagine? No, no, it’s better this way.”

Tony feels a surge of anger so strong within him that he has to forcefully restrain himself not to jump at the holograph’s throat. It would be oh-so-satisfying, but he can’t risk it.

He grips the back of the chair until his knuckles turn white and his fingers feel stiff.

“Were did you take her?” Gamora asks evenly, but there’s a promise of danger lacing her tone.

The Grandmaster waves a careless hand. “She’s fine. We have a whole floor to cater to our staff’s progeny.”

Good, Tony thinks. That’s good. Right? At least they didn’t throw her out into the streets or sold her off to fuck knows where. She’s in the tower, just a few floors away.

Tony breathes a sigh of relief.

But then Peter asks, a dark look crossing his eyes. “What do you do with the children?”

And Tony feels his stomach lurch in sudden agony. He’d not even considered that possibility. He hadn’t actually— Oh god, what if they use her like that? What if they have a whole market for pervs with their slaves’ children—

Tony feels bile rise up his throat. His legs buckle under him and he clutches his hand to his mouth to keep from throwing up.

“Please tell me you don’t use them for _entertainment_ ,” he says hoarsely, spiting out the word.

The Grandmaster looks startled. “Oh no, not at all. No, nothing like that. Oh, ew. Who does that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Peter grimly replies. He moves towards Tony, places a comforting hand on his waist. Tony grasps it gratefully.

“No, no. She’s perfectly fine, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He offers them a disingenuous smile then turns to Gamora, all cheerful tones. “Now, onto why I called. Gamora, my dear, it’s time for you to get your own show. We’ve got a whole set up just for you, I think you’ll like this one. Not like our Tony, here. Bigger. Like,” he raises his hands up about seven feet high. “His arms, huge. His legs, wow. What a body. Anywho, time to go. Go shine, my profitable little star. Cheerio.”

As soon as he’s gone, the doors open and the guards — both of them new this time — take her away. Gamora goes without a protest, merely sending each of them a quick glance in departure.

Tony doesn’t have the energy to either be shocked at the new development or angry at them for taking her away.

Peter slumps down onto the bed, shoulders hunched. He runs a hand over his face, his long hair getting all over the place. Peter obviously doesn’t care.

“You know, I’m getting really tired of this whole thing,” he says conversationally.

Tony hums. “Yeah. Kind of lost its spark a while ago, didn’t it?”

He sits down next to Peter, bumping their shoulders in a reach for silent comfort. He raises his hand and gently curls Peter’s hair behind his ear. He’ll braid it later, he thinks, though it’s so fine it’ll probably come loose again in no time without any hair bobbles. Gamora has a trick for keeping the braid together but Tony never learned it. Now… well.

Peter’s mouth twists wryly, his tone dry. “Personally, I could’ve done without the whole alien abduction. I think that’s what started this whole bad luck streak.”

“Next time I’ll work on putting up a big neon sign over Earth saying ‘Earth is closed, turn the fuck around.’”

“Good plan. You get to working on all the logistics.” Peter pats his knee in encouragement.

Tony snorts out a weak laugh despite himself, then leans into Peter’s shoulder, letting the somber silence spread around them.

He can’t help but feel glad that they didn’t take Peter this time, that, despite all the shit they’ve gone through, Tony still has him. It makes him feel guilty and like a horrible person for being glad that it was Gamora they took, but he thinks he’s allowed a few selfish thoughts by this point.

At least he still has this — Peter’s comforting presence, sarcastic humor, his warm, familiar body. It’s not much at all, it’s practically laughable compared to the life he used to have, but maybe he’s learning to make the best out of any situation.

And maybe, he thinks with that small, fearful part of him that he’s been trying his best to hide from, maybe having Peter is everything.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Peter asks after a long pause.

“She’s probably the most badass woman I’ve met,” Tony replies. He laces their fingers together, presses a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Peter sighs and falls back onto the bed, pulling Tony with him. Tony falls half on top of Peter with an “Oof,” then turns around so he’s properly on top of him, forearms encasing Peter’s head.

Peter runs light fingers over Tony’s ridiculously long hair. Then, voice soft, asks, “We’ll be okay?”

Tony kisses him with all the gentleness in his heart, soft brushes of his lips and licks of his tongue. “We’ll get out of here. Promise.”

It’s not what Peter asked, but it’s what Tony can give him. He doesn’t think they’ll ever be the same again, not after all this. But he has to think that they will get out.

He’s lost everything, but somehow he’s still holding on to hope like a lifeline.

“You always keep your promises,” Peter warns.

Tony nods, his nose brushing Peter’s in the process. “You better believe it.”

Tony will burn this whole place down in the process, but he’ll get them out of here.

* * *

Peter’s head is lying on Tony’s chest, fingers drawing mindless patterns over his stomach in a way that makes a warm feeling spread through Tony’s body from the deepest parts of his core. Tony smiles, kisses the top of Peter’s head.

It’s almost pitch dark in the room, with only a little light coming from the thin stripe underneath the door. Tony likes this time best of all. When it feels like the whole world is quiet and asleep, when’s it’s just the two of them. When he can pretend, for a while, that the cameras go out with the lights too. When it can just be him and Peter and quietly whispered words and softly traded kisses and caresses.

Then Peter snaps his head up so fast he hits Tony’s chin. Tony feels a sharp sting of pain spread all the way through his skull.

“Motherfu— _Ouch_. That hurt, you big-headed—”

“Shh.”

Peter clamps a hand over Tony’s mouth. Tony looks at him curiously, but Peter’s eyes are unfocused, his head tilted a bit so that his ear is towards the door.

Tony settles, takes Peter’s hand off his mouth with a kiss but remains quiet, waiting.

“Someone’s coming,” Peter says.

“Guards again?”

“Not guards.” Peter shakes his head, jumps off the bed and heads to the door, standing right beside it so that if someone comes in he won’t be the first person they see. “Stand by the wall.”

Tony reluctantly goes, feeling very useless. Actually, this whole ‘abducted into an alien planet’ thing has been one big game of how weak Tony actually is when divested of his suit. He’s personally not a fan.

He’d like to point out that he’s actually not bad at all even without his suit, but this whole experience of minimal nutrition has left him with a sad excuse for muscle strength. Tony refuses to accept the fact that age is taking its toll. He’s only fifty-two. Fifty-three? He probably missed a birthday or two somewhere along the way.

Tony stands by the wall obediently, straining his ears so he can have a clue about what’s happening. The door is annoyingly soundproofed for his simple human ears.

After a very long and very tense moment, Tony hears voices right from outside their door.

“Is that…?”

“Not Gamora,” Peter says, but he relaxes his pose a bit after hearing what is being said.

A male voice grumbles, close enough now that Tony can hear. “I swear if we get caught because Gamora wanted to save her little human pets…”

Tony raises his brows at Peter who shrugs in response. He does step away from the door though, standing in front of the bed so that he’ll be the first person they see. Tony notices how Peter’s body is still ready to fight, just in case. He himself is tense with nerves and anticipation.

How hard can it be to hot-wire an alien door anyways?

“Just do it,” a woman’s voice snaps.

There’s a fizzling sound, a loud boom which makes Peter jump back and Tony’s heart speed up to unhealthy levels, and then the door slides open.

Tony winces at the sudden light, but blinks his eyes quickly to adjust.

A blue woman looks at them, her face set in what looks to be a perpetual scowl.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

Tony takes just one second to process that she’s accompanied by a raccoon — a _talking_ raccoon — and says, “Who’re you?”

The raccoon gives him a very unimpressed look. Tony didn’t know raccoons were even capable of those facial expression, never mind the walking on two legs and talking bit.

“We risk ourselves to save your asses and you’re wasting our time with questions?”

“Alright, Build-a-bear, first, I have no idea who you two are, second, we’re not going anywhere without an explanation.”

The woman glares at them and then turns to the raccoon. “Let’s just leave them. Gamora will get over it.”

“You’re really with her?” Peter asks, voice cautiously optimistic.

The raccoon rubs a desperate-looking hand over his face and groans. “Yes. We’re the rescue team, now get your fucking lazy asses out of this room. Preferably any time _before_ the hundreds of guards crawling in this place decide to come over and check if their pretty little slaves are sleeping alright.”

That’s all Tony needs to speed forward, grab Peter’s hand, and run after their two saviors.

“Onwards then.”

The raccoon sends them another very unimpressed look as they scurry away.

“Seriously. If we don’t make it out of here I’m blaming your sister,” he says to the woman. “Who even cares about dumb humans anyways.”

“Hey! I’m a genius, he’s a genius, and the human part is not really something that can be helped,” Tony protests, feet following the two of them blindly.

“Sister?” Peter asks. Tony remembers a story about Gamora’s father turning his sister into an android and guesses this is probably her.

The raccoon gives them the side-eye as he stops around a corner to see if the coast is clear. “I didn’t see you getting yourselves out of this mess, did I? Now shut your traps and follow me.”

Peter shares a look with him, Tony merely shakes his head and mumbles about rude talking-raccoons and they both follow along.

He absently notices that this is the second time in a long, long while that he’s been out of his room. There’s a distinct nervousness that comes with the thought. The first time had ended both horribly wrong and incredibly right — if only because now Tony cannot bring himself to regret what led to Olive being born.

Mostly he’s quite focused on following their two saviors along and keeping a tight hold on Peter’s hand so they don’t get separated, but there’s still a part of him that feels incredibly anxious for leaving the safety of their room. It’s mixed with feelings of fear for being caught and excitement at the prospect of actually being free, but it’s undeniably there.

Tony swallows hard as his heart beats wildly in his chest. Peter squeezes his hand in support and Tony remembers that he can hear Tony’s heart beating and throat bobbing.

He sends Peter as confident a smirk as he can manage. Peter smiles sweetly in return, his eyes bright and cautiously hopeful.

They make their way through a maze of corridors, stopping periodically to check out any threats and make sure no one is following them.

The woman’s steps are light and agile and she looks like her every sense is on alert. Peter’s head keeps tilting one way and the other, spider senses doing their thing. Tony keeps holding his hand as they follow the grumpy raccoon down the hallways, hoping he knows where he’s going.

“Where’s Gamora? Are we gonna go get her?” Peter whispers quietly.

“We need to get Olive,” Tony adds.

It’s been days and days, close to a month, he thinks, though he doesn’t want to ask Peter to confirm. His heart aches everyday for his little girl and he can’t even entertain the thought of getting out of here without her.

“Is that the child’s name?” blue chick asks. Tony still doesn’t know her name, but it’s not like she asked for his either.

The raccoon waves a shushing hand at them. “Gamora went to fetch the kid, why do you think we got stuck with you two idiots? Now zip it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow and very much wants to snap at him but then there’s a sound of footsteps coming from the right, just around the corner and getting closer it seems, and Tony promptly gets his head in the game.

They’ve reached a T in their path and even to Tony’s human ears that seems like a lot of heavy footsteps. His heart does a fantastic job of playing an action music track to match the mood of the scene.

He plasters his back to the wall, cursing the place for not having any conveniently placed supply closets to hide in. Peter is beside him but closer to the perpendicular hallway, body tilted to the point where it’s obvious he’s trying to protect Tony.

Tony is not very impressed, even if he knows Peter can very much handle himself — Tony’s the one who’s supposed to protect him. Those types of instincts never go away.

Fuck the alien slave trade and their greedy little paws for taking away his suit.

Raccoon and Blue are immediately in front of them, bodies poised to fight. Tony wonders how useful the raccoon will be against the huge guards but he actually looks like a scrappy fella. And the massive gun he’s carrying doesn’t look anything to snub at either.

Tony wishes their saviors had brought extra supplies. He would very much like to have the comfort of a weapon in his hands right about now, alien technology or not.

The steps get closer and closer and Tony’s heart hammers in his chest with the tension. He trades a look with Peter and then the other two. The woman has a focused look on her face, eyes slightly narrowed and head tilted at an angle. Then she nods, just once, and both she and the raccoon become a blur of movement.

They catch the guards by surprise. Tony quickly counts seven of them, and they’re on the floor before he can so much as try to step closer to join the fight.

The woman is the most vicious fighter Tony has ever seen. She deals blow after blow, most of them looking quite fatal, in a fluid mix of moves that leaves Tony just a little bit awed.

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers. Tony turns to him and finds a matching look in his face.

“Well, aren’t we glad they’re on our side,” Tony quips.

Build-a-bear is a tiny blur of bad-assery, snarling and shooting and jumping onto guards who could probably give the Hulk a one minute challenge — which is certainly more than most people. Tony is reluctantly impressed.

In what seems like no time at all, there’s a strewn of bodies on the floor and their saviors are off with barely a glance at them.

“Keep up, humans,” the raccoon says, already running off down the next corridor.

The woman doesn’t say anything, her face as solemn as ever.

Peter and Tony exchange a look before they’re off at a run after them. Tony stops after a few steps and then sprints back to fetch two weapons from the fallen guards, tossing one to Peter when he gets back.

Peter eyes it distastefully but then shrugs and holds it gingerly.

“I dunno about you but I felt a bit useless just now,” Peter says, soundly adorably offended.

Tony snorts. “Imagine how I feel next to you without my suit. And fifteen pounds lighter.”

“Twenty, I’d say,” Peter adds after an evaluating glance.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Do you know what would make _me_ feel better? If you two idiots would just shut the hell up for a minute. Or twenty,” Raccoon snarks.

“If you attract more guards I’ll kill you,” Blue informs them with a deadly glare.

Tony and Peter wisely shut up and try to make their footsteps as quiet as possible while running down an otherwise completely silent corridor.

They reach a door very similar to the one in their room, with a pressure lock and a keypad. Only this one can actually be opened from both sides, so that’s a plus. Raccoon quickly makes his way into the keycard box, pulls out a couple of tools from his belt, and dismantles the mechanism in no time at all.

“Impressive,” Tony says, completely forgetting they’re supposed to keep quiet under penalty of death.

“Couldn’t you have been just as fast with the door to their room,” Blue grumbles as she makes another run for it, every inch of her on high alert.

Raccoon gives her the death stare. “I told you, it’s a different mechanism. That one was booby trapped ‘cause they didn’t wanna take any chances of their precious merchandise getting out.”

“Hey!” Tony start, resenting the qualifier even though it definitely fits.

“Shut up,” both of them snap.

Peter snorts, the traitor.

They run through corridor after corridor, staircase after staircase, bust door after door, deal with the occasional guards who are all taken by surprise to see them.

Tony wonders why that is. Surely they must have sounded the alarm by now that there’s intruders making away with the Grandmaster’s profitable porn stars? When he does ask, Raccoon waves a dismissive hand at him.

“Nebula hacked their feed. They’ll be looking at video loops the whole night.”

Tony’s brain makes an almost audible clicking sound. “Oh. You’re Nebula.”

She sends him a look before deciding to start running again after having just downed three guards in under a minute.

“Gamora mentioned you,” Tony says, unprompted. “I’m just not good with names so I’ve been calling you Blue in my head.”

“How original,” Raccoon snarks.

“Been calling you Raccoon too, if you care.”

He receives a death glare for that. “I’m not a raccoon. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you Terrans this.”

“Gamora spoke about me,” Nebula says. Not like a question at all, more like she’s completely shocked about it. It’s hard to tell what with her being incredibly faithful to the whole robotic thing she’s got going on, but Tony thinks he hears a hint of disbelief in her tone.

“Yeah. You’re her sister, right?”

Nebula is quiet for a moment, then says, “Yes.”

Peter quips up with an, “I’m Peter by the way. He’s Tony.”

“Rocket,” not-raccoon says with a grunt.

“Cool, cool,” Peter replies. Tony can tell that his mouth is itching to go on one of his rambling sprees but Peter spares a look towards Nebula and then visibly restrains himself.

Tony smothers a laugh.

They keep running, down corridors and up flights of stairs. Tony wants to ask but this time he refrains himself. Surely they wouldn’t be stupid enough to plan a rescue that meant they sent them straight up to the Grandmaster. He thinks. He hopes.

When they finally stop, Tony is winded, his withering muscles are screaming at him in dying protest, and Tony desperately curses every damn one of their jailers who underfed them for over a year.

Fuck, but he’s completely out of shape. He can only imagine how much worse it’d be if he hadn’t at least tried to keep up with exercising a little bit every day. He’d probably have passed out after staircase number two.

“What now?” he asks, breathing ragged.

Peter is immediately next to him, concerned hand on Tony’s lower back, thumb rubbing idle circles over the rough dress fabric. “You okay?”

Tony nods, waves a dismissive hand wildly in the air. “Haven’t seen stairs in a while,” he says through breaths that, admittedly, sound concerningly wheezing.

Peter’s face contorts in worry but then he shakily says, “Nah, pretty sure that’s old age.”

Tony wants to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

“What are we waiting for,” he repeats, hands going to his knees as he tries to catch his slippery breath. The alien weapon digs uncomfortably into his thigh. Tony hasn’t used it at all, but it still makes him feel better for having it.

“Quill and Gamora are meeting us here,” Rocket says, eyes searching around them non-stop.

Nebula stays on guard, her whole body looking as if it’s ready to snap into a fight at any minute. And she is, so. Good for them.

They’re in a hallway that looks a lot like all the other hallways in the tower. Too bright and too colorful. Too quiet now, also, but Tony supposes it’s night and even aliens must need their sleep.

Finally, when they’re all getting too antsy to stay still, there’s a sound of hurried footsteps. Tony sincerely hopes it’s not the guards. By the way Peter relaxes next to him, he gathers it’s not. Spider hearing is pretty cool.

Tony turns towards the sound and sees Gamora’s determined face break into an expression of relief when she catches sight of them. That one simple action hits him someplace completely unexpected.

They spent months together in a small room, had gotten close due to pure necessity — and also because she’s pretty damn cool and Tony is awesome. But still. He hadn’t really processed that she’d actually make her friends go pick him up when she wasn’t even his roommate anymore. He’d always just hoped that they’d come get her when she was still sharing the room with Tony and he’d just talk them into helping him and Peter out. When she’d been taken away, his hope had quietly dwindled.

But she’s here now, and she made her grumpy friend and sister rescue him and Peter, and… Tony gets a little chocked up about it if he’s honest.

Also, more importantly, she’s carrying their baby in her arms.

Tony rushes forward as soon as his brain snaps out of the shock, weapon falling to the floor with a clatter, and is hugging Gamora and Olive before he can properly process the action.

When he does realize what he’s doing, he’s almost expecting Gamora to pull back. They may be friends and once-sex partners, but she’s not the touchy feely type at all.

And yet she doesn’t.

“Tony,” she breathes out in relief.

Tony feels her words echoing in his bones. “Thank you, green been. Seriously. Thanks.”

He kisses her hair and she gives him an eye roll in return which is dripping in fondness. He grins.

“And there’s our little girl,” he whispers, awed. “Wow. She grew fast. She’s huge.”

Way bigger than he was expecting, really. She’d been premie-sized when last he’d seen her and now she looks like a pretty regular baby, chubby cheeks and fat legs and all. They put her into a smaller version of the tunics they all wear and her little legs fold comfortably over Gamora’s arm.

“Of course she did,” Gamora replies with superiority. Tony grins wider.

He kisses Olive’s forehead, smiles at her when her big brown eyes turn to him in assessment. She doesn’t look too bothered to be in Gamora’s arms, which Tony takes to mean she’s probably used to been passed around from one person to the next, without a real caregiver. It makes his heart twist painfully and he kisses her again.

“We’ve got you now, baby girl. We’ll take proper care of you, don’t worry.”

Gamora gives him a look Tony can’t interpret.

“Alright, alright. Enough of hogging my girlfriend,” the Quill dude— Gamora’s Peter, Tony assumes — intervenes.

“Yeah, enough with the mushy reunions. It’s not like we have all the time in the world to sit here while you two play house,” Rocket snaps.

Gamora’s face turns serious. “Here,” she says, passing Olive into his arms. “I need to be able to fight.”

Tony nods, knowing better than to argue. He’s perfectly aware of his own value in this situation. But taking care of Olive he can most definitely do.

He takes a step back and watches as Gamora and Quill go talk to Rocket and Nebula. They have a fiery discussion about the best plan, but Tony isn’t really listening, too focused on the little girl in his arms.

“Daddy missed you, little pea. You’ve grown so much. Look at you! What have the mean aliens been feeding you?”

Peter wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and leans in close. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to talk about mean aliens when technically _she_ is an alien. Or half-alien” he says, a smile in his voice.

Tony snorts. “Yeah. Good thing she’ll take a while to understand things so I have a little wiggle room when I inevitably mess up.”

Tony feels Peter shake his head softly against his shoulder. “You’ll be great. Look at how she looks at you. Hasn’t taken her eyes off you since.”

Tony smiles widely. He hasn’t either. His little girl has big expressive eyes which seem to be taking in everything with unusual intelligence. Tony wonders at the combination between his genius brain and Gamora’s fierce personality and decides that their daughter will probably be capable of conquering the universe.

He kisses her nose and laughs when she twists it and makes an all around adorably funny face.

“You’re the cutest.”

“Let’s go!” Quill announces.

“Go where? What’s happening?”

Rockets groans. “Seriously, Gamora. What do you see in these idiots?”

Gamora sends Tony a fond look before she darts forward, the rest following her. “Nebula found a place for the ship to hover so we can get out of the tower quickly.”

Tony darts forward as carefully as he can with his precious cargo.

“I’m sorry, did you say hover? She meant land, right? Pretty sure she meant land. Your translation chip is malfunctioning, little grasshopper, better get it fixed.”

“No, we’re jumping,” Nebula informs him, painfully monotone.

Tony looks to Peter for help. “They do realize I’m just human right?”

“Oh, believe me, it hasn’t escaped our notice,” Rocket snarks.

Tony gives him the finger.

“Hey, they really are humans! Gamora did you find me some human friends?” Quill asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

Tony rolls his eyes. “You sound like a kid getting a new toy. I feel so special.”

“I’m personally a bit over the whole people as property thing myself,” Peter says lightly.

Gamora smacks Quill upside the head.

“Ignore him. He was raised by thieves.”

“Oh yes, the alien abductors.” Tony nods sagely. Been there, done that. He’s not sure who got the worst of it, actually.

“Actually, they were more like hired kidnappers, right? Cause it turns out my dad was a planet and he hired them to go fetch me from Missouri.”

“A planet,” Tony deadpans.

“Missouri,” Peter says, lips curling in distaste.

“Yup. We had to kill him,” Quill adds sadly. By the look of his companions, they don’t share the same feelings at all.

Nebula stills to a stop just outside a big glass window overlooking the city. It’s night out, which means they at least weren’t tricked into weird sleep patterns by the lights-out system, but there seems to be a ton of activity down in the streets.

“Busy nightlife,” Peter comments, echoing Tony’s thoughts.

“It’s fight night, that’s why we chose tonight for our rescuing mission,” Quill informs them, not that it explains much.

His expression must mirror his thoughts because Gamora gives him a small smile and says, “The fighting pits of Sakaar are notorious throughout the galaxy. The whole planet tunes in, and then some.”

“Two hundred units just to get in,” Rockets adds. “But you can make a lot of profit with the bets.”

“Most of them die too quickly,” Nebula says, her opinion on the matter clear.

Peter makes a sound and Tony turns to him. “I guess we should feel grateful we ended up here instead?”

He pulls a face at that which Tony feels very much reflects his feelings. Yeah, fighting to the death would’ve sucked, but being forced into sex slavery wasn’t a picnic either. At least Tony had had Peter and Gamora, Peter’s experience hadn’t been so great.

Rocket snorts. “Yeah right, as if they would’ve put you in there.”

Tony bristles at that. “Actually, we’re pretty damn good in a fight, Meeko. That’s why they brought us to this damn planet in the first place.”

It had, too. Not only had they fought them when they were kidnapped — which they were totally winning until their abductors got Peter and then Tony surrendered to stop them from following with their threat — but they’d also staged a little rebellion even without their suits.

Rocket, Nebula, and Quill send him matching offensively dubious looks.

“He’s got some sort of suit,” Gamora explains. “Peter’s alright.”

Nebula tilts her head while she assess Peter. “He looks like he’ll snap in two if I poke him.”

Peter blushes and rubs a hand over his neck. “Uh. No, no, I— Um, I’ve got superpowers?”

“Ooh, do you shoot lasers out of your eyes?” Quill asks excitedly. “Can you fly? Can you turn people into lava?”

“Uh… No? Not those kinds of superpowers,” Peter says. “Just, you know, I’m strong. And really flexible.”

“And sticky,” Tony adds with a quirk of his lip. Olive makes a noise and Tony pokes her little nose with a ‘boop’. “You’re lucky you haven’t walked into a room while he’s hanging from the ceiling like a weirdo.”

Peter stick his tongue out at him.

“Where are they?” Gamora asks, eyes scanning the sky.

“They’ll get here, be patient,” Rocket says.

Gamora snarls. “I’ve been patient for two hundred and sixty-one days.”

Nebula snaps her head up in confusion, the first sign of real emotion Tony’s seen on her. “Two hundred and sixty-one days? It’s not been that long at all.”

Gamora looks like she wants to rip someone’s head off before Quill intervenes.

Quill raises his hands in peace — and hey, look at that, it _is_ a confirmed universal sign for peace. “They’re coming. You know Drax, he’s always a bit slow on the uptake.”

“You should’ve sent him to do the rescuing, then,” Gamora grumbles, but her shoulders relax a bit and she unconsciously leans closer to Quill.

Rocket snorts. “Can you imagine? He’d be walking around trying to kill every single person responsible for keeping you here. Then we’d really never make it out of his damn tower.”

“Protective older brother?” Tony asks curiously.

Gamora shakes her head. “Our team is like a family.”

“Kylosians are notoriously single-minded about revenge,” Nebula says. “I suggested we let him come but Rocket made him stay with Mantis and Groot.”

She sounds so disappointed by it that Tony is, strangely, actually glad he didn’t come. He always fantasized about leaving this tower in a blaze of fire, but now that freedom is within his reach, he really just wants to get the hell away from here and go home.

“Yeah and for good reason, those two are already—”

“Shh. I see them.” Gamora steps closer to the glass, eyes narrowing.

“Cool ship,” Peter says, sounding visibly awed. Tony supposes the only real experience they had with an alien ship was being sucked into one by a beam of light, so he can definitely share some of Peter’s feelings.

“Stand back.”

Tony takes hurried steps back and hunches over Olive protectively. She makes a sound of complaint but is otherwise quite good about the whole being taken out of wherever they were keeping her and into the hand of two, for all intents and purposes, strangers.

Peter steps in front of them, blocking Tony’s vision, so he can only hear when a blast breaks through the window with a crash loud enough he fears the whole city would’ve heard.

Olive startles in his arms at the sound and starts to whimper so quietly that it breaks his heart.Have they left his little girl alone for so long in her short life that she’s gotten used to not crying loudly?He hushes her and pulls her closer into his body, holding her tight against his chest and rubbing her back in soothing circles.

When Peter steps to the side, Tony finds the window shattered, glass strewn mostly outwards, thankfully, and the ship hovering closer. Not close enough, though.

“Guys…”

“It’s alright, Tony. I’ll take Olive and then I’ll help you.”

Peter gives him what he probably means to pass as a comforting smile but is actually quite shaky. Tony can see the lines of tension all over Peter’s face, the stubborn set of his brow that means he is steadfastly determined to come out on top of all this shit.

That’s probably what tips Tony’s wavering concerns.

Tony nods tersely, heart hammering away in his chest.

Then there’s heavy running steps from just behind him and bangs of what he assumes is the alien version of guns, and everything descends into utter chaos.

Peter pushes Tony and Olive behind him, crouching defensively in front of them. Gamora and Nebula are twin forces of Nature, dodging dangerous-looking beams of light and killing their way through a good dozen or so guards. Quill fights too, firing back with his own weapon, and Tony has to admit that he’s not bad at all apart from being a bit of a dumbass.

“Come on,” Rocket snaps at them, urging them into the ship. He jumps in before even making sure they follow, using the momentum of his run to propel him forward.

Tony swallows hard. “Take her, don’t worry about me, okay? Just— You two get out of here, alright?”

Peter accepts Olive into his arms but shakes his head in determination, eyes bright and maybe just a little scared, even while he steps back towards the now-broken window.

“Just hold on, Tony. I’ll be right back.”

Tony sends him a shaky smile, startles when a beam of light hits right where Peter used to be. There’s more fucking guards coming and he doesn’t think even the deadly sisters and their 'son of a planet' sidekick will be a match for them.

“Go, Pete. Just go.”

Peter sends him one last look, features twisted in uncertainty, and then wraps Olive tightly in his arms while he makes a run for it. It leaves him right in the line of fire and Tony’s heart lurches in his chest while he watches Peter jump and skip and dodge those deadly beams — and then he’s reached the window and he’s up in the air, suspended mid-jump for what feels like a lifetime.

It’s too far. Too fucking far, and all Tony can think is _he doesn’t have his web slingers, he doesn’t have his web slingers_ , but Peter makes it. Of course he makes it. He’s fucking Spider-Man.

A blast startles Tony out of his intense focus and then he feels a searing pain on his right thigh.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_.”

Tony looks down, almost afraid to see, and there’s a fucking missing chunk of his thigh. Right fucking _there_.

“ _Tony_!”

Peter’s scream echoes in his ears and Tony thinks he tells him to stay put but he’s not sure any sound comes out of his mouth besides grunts of pain and a steady fight with consciousness.

Distantly, he hears familiar voices approaching, feels two arms grab him by his armpits, drag him into a run his legs barely sustain, feels the dreadful moment where his body loses contact with the solid floor, is suspended in the air, defying gravity.

_We’re gonna fall_ , he thinks. _We’re gonna splatter onto the ground like three rainbow-colored pancakes_.

Somehow they don’t. Those arms are much stronger than they look, or the ship moved closer, possibly crashing into the building in the process. Tony doesn’t know and doesn’t have the brain capacity to try to parse the events at the moment. All he knows is they drop into the open floor of the ship and pain flashes up and down from Tony’s thigh with such blinding intensity that his vision goes black and then he’s blissfully out.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony meets consciousness with a scream of pain. It feels like his leg is being seared with a blow torch, flame turned up high and utterly merciless.

He thrashes wildly, trying to get away from the pain, but there are strong arms pinning him down, uttering words he doesn’t begin to comprehend through the sheer blinding agony his body is experiencing.

There’s another sound that cracks through his pain. It almost sounds like baby crying, he deliriously thinks. Then he remembers.

_Olive_.

He wants to stop screaming then but his mouth doesn’t get the memo. Everything hurts so fucking much. More than falling from space and more than getting a shield to the chest and nearly more than having a hole cut out into his chest without anesthesia.

Thankfully, the next wave of pain hits him stronger than ever and he’s out like the lights again.

This time, when Tony wakes up he makes sure not to scream. He doesn’t want to scare Olive again. It’s hard though, really fucking hard. Thankfully, it doesn’t hurt as bad as before, so. Progress or something.

Maybe they decided to cut his leg off? He wiggles his toes just to make sure, and yup, still there. Hurts like a bitch too.

He cracks his eyes open, breathing coming out in harsh pants through his nose. Peter’s face greats him, an anxious look marring his features.

Peter breathes out a “Tony” that is so filled with emotion that Tony’s chest constricts with something painful before he schools his features into an easy smile.

“Hey, handsome. Miss me?”

Gosh, his voice sounds like absolute shit. It feels like some tiny creatures decided to crawl into his throat with some sheets of sandpaper and all the dedication of DUM-E on a cleaning spree. He supposes it must be the result of all the screaming in agony he doesn’t remember doing so much of.

Peter gives him a wobbly smile, eyes suspiciously moist, then dips his head into his chest and clear his throat. “Nah. Not really. Kind of got enough of you after so long in that room.”

Tony is about to drill into him for teasing an invalid when suddenly Peter starts shaking, tiny little convulsion-like movements rippling through his body. It takes Tony a moment longer than it usually would — he is absolutely blaming his drowsy brain on the pain — to notice that Peter is crying, silent, painful little sobs wrecking his body.

Tony’s chest twists sharply and viciously, every one of his cells screaming at him to just get up and wrap Peter in his arms and never let him go. He tries to follow through too, but then his current predicament comes crashing the party with a sharp reminder and Tony has to exert some preternatural control not to let a cry of pain slip through his lips.

Compromising with his mangled leg, Tony extends his arms towards Peter and draws him closer with softly whispered words.

Peter falls onto the bed and into his arms almost immediately, curling against his side — his good side, thankfully — and then there are long minutes of Tony whispering soothing nothings into Peter’s hair while his hand travels up and down Peter’s back in soft caresses.

“Don’t do that again,” Peter eventually says, sobs finally abating but his body still shivering slightly. His voice is wet and hoarse and Tony closes his eyes for a second — just a second, just a moment to gather some strength from his dwindling and squirrelly reserves.

Tony inhales softly and opens his eyes again, kisses Peter’s hair, then his brow, his nose, his lips.

Tony gives him a smile, mostly genuine and a bit teasing. “I’ll try to do my best to keep both my legs intact next time. Kind of fond of them.”

Peter chuckles weakly. “They have their uses.”

Tony’s smile turns sad in the next breath. “I’m sorry I scared you, Pete. I really am.”

Peter nods mutely, his head bobbing up and down against Tony’s chest for a while.

“The other thing too,” he says after a beat. “Handing me Olive and not expecting me to come back? Not cool, Tony.”

Tony twists uncomfortably.

“Pete…”

Peter, that famous stubbornness replacing the worry in his features, pushes himself up onto his elbow to look Tony dead in the eye.

“No. Don’t wanna hear it. And definitely don’t wanna see it happen again.”

Tony sighs and looks at him pleadingly. “You know I can’t promise that, Pete. You’re… You’re all I’ve got. You and Olive, that’s it.” Peter shakes his head but Tony shushes him with a thumb stroking his cheek. “It’s true. Here, it’s true. Yeah, there’s Gamora of course, she’s a friend. But you two… You’re everything. I’ll always put you first.”

Tony looks away then, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He didn’t exactly mean to say all of that but it doesn’t make it any less true.

He and Peter have never spoken about it, about _them_. There is clearly a them, though how it got there is something neither of them is quite sure of. There is also more to it than just the two of them being important to each other. So much more. But Tony’s never been ready to say it — not here, not in their room, not on this planet. He’s still not ready to say it, actually. It’s too big, too… Just, everything. Peter is everything and Tony will make the choice again, if it comes to it.

Peter knows it, of course, just as he knows what it is that Tony means but can’t say. He lets out a heavy sigh and then drops his forehead gently onto Tony’s. It’s very movie-like — the romantic ones too, which, yikes. But Tony finds himself breathing easier with the contact, his muscles losing most of their tension and a warm feeling spreading through him.

“Alright,” Peter eventually concedes, his voice a caressing breath. “Just… Fuck, Tony. Just promise me you’ll do your best.”

That he can definitely do. Tony nods seriously, kisses Peter firmly. “Promise. I promise I’ll definitely try not to be the killed by aliens or terrorists or, hey, normal every day bad guys. Remember those?They were fun. I miss those times.”

“I do to,” Peter says, with more seriousness than Tony had meant it. He touches his nose almost playfully to Tony’s before pulling back and regarding him solemnly. “You always keep your promises.”

“To you, Pete, always.” And that is definitely the truth. He chances a small smile. “I did say we’d get out, didn’t I?”

Peter shakes his head fondly. “I don’t think you had any part in getting us out, Tony.”

“Ah ah, I never said I’d be the one doing the rescue, did I? I just said we’d totally get the hell out of pornvile. Besides, I think we were definitely due some princess saving scenarios where we weren’t the ones almost getting burned by the dragon.”

Peter chuckles and gives him a fond eye roll. “You did kinda get burned by the mean guards, Cinderella.”

Tony gasps in fake outrage. “Are you mocking my singed dress?”

“Tunic.”

“Totally a dress, Pete, embrace your masculinity.”

He gets another eye roll for that, but is also rewarded with a soft kiss which slowly changes into something much more primal. Confirmation, it almost feels like, that they’re both alive.

When Peter pulls back, they’re both panting and flushed and Peter’s eyes are shining with more than just relief.

Tony presses another peck to his swollen lips and then tilts his head to the side in consideration.

“So what’s up with the leg? Am I gonna find it replaced with some alien robotics if I lift up the blanket or what? ‘Cause let me tell you, that’d be kind of cool. Probably not better than one I could build, but still cool.” He's mostly joking because he can feel his leg, and the amount of pain he’s in doesn’t scream prosthetic at all, but he also finds a peculiar sort of excitement building up inside him at the thought. “I could probably take it apart and make it better anyways.”

Peter smiles at him, a bit shaky and a lot fond, and then sits up next to Tony, one hand almost carelessly placed on top of the blanket by Tony’s damaged leg.

Tony, despite his words, is admittedly nervous. Last time he woke up after being kidnapped, he had a hole in his chest and a car battery attached to it. This time there’s a leg — because he can definitely feel it, thank you pain — but also there’s a big range of options between having a leg and not having a leg.

Personally he’s hoping for as close to a whole leg as he can get, but hey, he’s learned life is hardly that kind to him.

Peter is observing him quietly, his features set in an almost perfect poker face. And damn, when did he even learn that? There’s a big chance Gamora had been teaching him while Tony slept, he thinks with amusement.

Tony decides to just bite the bullet. He’s not Iron Man for nothing, after all.

“So? Can we unwrap this present or what?”

Peter waits for a beat, shrewd eyes assessing Tony’s every micro-expression, before nodding. “Go ahead. Unless you want me to do it?”

Tony does, but he also can’t let himself be that cowardly so he pushes himself up on his forearm and pulls back the blanket with his other arm.

The sight that greats him is… well. Better than his mind was picturing as the worst possible option, in all fairness, but also, to that part of him that is stubborning hopeful and optimistic, much worse than expected.

There is a leg, that is definitely confirmed, though whether it’s for the best or not remains entirely to be seen. Where his thigh muscles used to be whole and — he says so himself — quite nicely shaped, there is now a hole the size of a hand.

A hand-sized hole in his freaking right thigh. How the fuck is he supposed to walk on this thing?

Someone had obviously tried to cauterize the wound, which is probably what all that excruciating pain that had woken him up before had been about. Figures they wouldn’t have anesthesia even in space. Tony is seriously starting to think that fate has some kind of issue with him.

So the end result is… Well.

“That’s disgusting,” he tells Peter, voice surprisingly casual. Detached almost. He thinks maybe his therapist would say something about shock and poor coping but whatever.

Peter nods in agreement. “A little bit, yeah.”

That makes Tony snort out a laugh. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to say the exact opposite of that.” He leans back on the pillow, already over the disaster that used to be what a nice piece of human biology.

“I’ve never been able to lie to you,” Peter says with a casual shrug.

“You really haven’t.”

He lifts up his head again, curiosity and a morbidly fascinated type of horror compelling him to have just another look. Nope, nothing’s changed.

“Blegh. Almost wish that blast had blown all of it off so I could build a whole new leg. It’d be the best damned prosthetic leg, too,” he says, poking at his thigh with strange fascination. It hurts, unsurprisingly.

Peter swats his hand aways almost absently. “I’m sure it would. But I think this is better.”

Tony lies back down with a huff. “Says the person without a freaking huge gap where muscle and skin are supposed to be.”

Peter shrugs. “Fair enough.” Then, without giving an inch, “At least you can still get a feet massage instead of just the one foot.”

When Tony narrows his eyes at him, Peter simply keeps looking at him placidly until Tony just rolls his eyes in defeat. Peter cracks a smile then, genuine and bright and just about the best balm for his wounded soul there could be.

Damn the man.

“Would your spidey powers heal this too?” Tony asks, refusing to fall into Peter’s game. “Just curious.”

Peter makes a considering face, lower lip jutting out in a manner very nonconductive to Tony’s determination to ignore his current smart-ass behavior.

“Probably,” he decides, head dipping in concession. “Do you want me to go look for a radioactive spider?”

Tony finally snorts out a laugh despite himself and whacks Peter with the corner of the blanket. It’s a pitiful attempt at best, but it ends with Peter’s newly-braided hair — obviously courtesy of Gamora while Tony had been passed out — in a mess of static electricity which has Tony laughing even more. Peter joins in after huffing at him in faux-annoyance.

They laugh and laugh and laugh until, finally, they’re joined by their loud companions who decide that, since Tony is laughing after almost having lost a leg, he’s definitely ready to hear the story about how they got out of Sakaar.

And Tony is, he definitely is, especially when Gamora passes a sleeping Olive into his arms and he gets to kiss her hair, sniff some surprisingly delicious baby smell, and smooth out her brow while listening to Rocket and Quill fight over each other in their attempt to tell him exactly how many of the Grandmaster’s ships they took down in their run for freedom.

And there’s Peter too, by his side, close enough that Tony can feel the heat of his body under the tunic, one gentle hand on Tony’s thigh — the bad one, even — while the other joins the rest of the gang in animated conversation over how many things they managed to explode during their escape.

* * *

Tony’s bed-ridden self has involuntarily taken over the tree’s room. Groot, he’s apparently called, since it seems to be the only thing he can say. And yeah, the tree talks. The not-a-raccoon talks too, so Tony supposes alien fauna and flora have other definitions of impossible.

There’s also a chick with antennae and a giant with tattoos all over and no understanding of sarcasm whatsoever, and Tony decides that these Guardians of the Galaxy are the weirdest bunch of people he’s ever met. And probably also the coolest.

Groot is obviously a teenager if the decoration in the room is anything to go about. Tony counts at least 11 posters of weirdly sexual things — and not all of them even look like living creatures, so. Go figure. He decides it’s wiser to keep quiet on that.

Peter has apparently not left Tony’s side since they came onboard, which Tony considers sickeningly sweet and also a complete travesty because how can he be in an alien ship and _not_ want to explore every nook and cranny of it?

Granted, their first time aboard an alien ship didn’t end up too well, but Tony decides this is something that needs immediate correction.

“No,” Peter says for the… Tony’s lost count, actually. Peter just keeps looking at him with his stubborn jaw and unimpressed eyebrows and, yeah, okay, he’s definitely got the look down pat, but Tony has been dealing with Pepper for well over twenty years now and Peter’s got nothing on her.

“You stay then, I’m going,” Tony says, deciding the best course of action is to try to play the sick card. It usually garners him good results. “Pretty sure I can walk on this thing without any help, anyways. Did I tell you about that time I walked out of a cave in the desert with a hole in my chest? And I managed to blow up the place in the process. It was glorious, really.”

Peter’s unimpressed look suffers a magnificent upgrade, which Tony totally does not acknowledge, but he is otherwise silent. Then he raises a challenging eyebrow and Tony’s resolve settles.

Tony narrows his eyes in steely determination and does his best to get off the bed in one fluid, ‘I told you I could do it’ movement.

It garners him less than stellar results.

Tony tries to muffle a cry of pain when he so much as moves his bad leg a few inches and is utterly unsuccessful. Tears spring to his eyes, which he does manage to keep at bay — barely — and then he very deliberately breathes through the pain with sharp, shallow inhales that don’t actually do much to help at all.

Peter’s expression does crack, though, so bonus points there, and he is immediately by Tony’s side. Only instead of helping him, the jerk decides to use his not inconsiderable amount of strength to push Tony firmly back onto the bed.

Tony relents, only because he thinks Peter would worry too much if he tried to get up again. No other reason. He still makes a point of scowling, he can’t have Peter thinking Tony’s happy with being bed-ridden.

“Stay,” Peter says.

Tony’s scowl turns into a glare. “I’m not a dog, you can’t order me around,” he very maturely says.

“No, a dog would be much better behaved,” Peter snippily counters. 

“Ha ha, hilarious. If the Spider-Man gig doesn’t pan out, you should totally try for comedian. Not.”

“Nah, I’d probably go porn star, already have some experience with that and everything,” Peter deadpans. He cocks a brow in challenge. “Do you think anyone would turn me down if I put Tony Stark on my resume?”

Tony blinks at Peter for a good minute before bursting out in laughter. “You’re such a little asshole.”

Peter cracks a smirk which quickly morphs into a fond-looking smile. “And also stubborn enough to take care of you when you won’t do it yourself.” He narrows his eyes at Tony as if to drive the point in better, then rolls his eyes when Tony gives him his best puppy-dog impression. “Idiot.”

Tony grins roguishly. “You know you love it, you’d be totally bored without me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“But, Pete, I really do wanna check out the alien spaceship. Rocket said he’d show me around and everything. He’s pretty smart for a raccoon.”

“Not a raccoon.”

“Pretty smart for a non-raccoon too. I really wanna see what he has to show me. This room is boring.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’ve been here for less than a day, Tony. And didn’t we just spend a year and a half locked up in a room?”

Tony’s playful teasing turns serious. “Exactly. I don’t ever wanna be trapped like that again.”

Peter’s expression falls, then morphs into one of understanding. “I know, Tony. Believe me, I get it. But you can barely move without pain, how are you going to go walking around a ship? There are surprisingly more stairs than expected, you know?”

Tony contains his cry of excitement because that means Peter’s about to cave and Tony doesn’t want to give him any reason not to. He sends Peter his most dazzlingly, charming smile. “I’d totally let you carry me, Pete. Come on, live your knight in shiny armor fantasy. I already have the dress for the princess part.”

“Tunic,” Peter replies, lips pursed in that way Tony knows means he’s trying not to laugh.

Tony’s smile widens. “It’s a very pretty dress, Peter, don’t diss it. And you can swoop me into your arms and be all hero-like and romantic and I’ll even throw in some A-grade swooning just for you.” He flutter his eye lashes at his mockingly. “See these pretty eyes? Definitely swooning material.”

Peter gives him a look full of exasperation. Then he sighs, for so long that Tony wonders if he’s eventually going to run out of air and go blue on him, and finally relents.

“Alright.”

Tony’s been trying to convince him for so long that when it finally comes his brain can only go, “Huh? Alright?”

Peter sighs again, very long-suffering and extremely uncalled for. Tony doesn’t say any of that because he obviously doesn’t want to ruin his chances of getting out of the room.

“Yeah. Alright. Let’s get out of this room, my Lady.”

Tony grins so widely he feels his face muscles strain. “Best Prince Charming ever.”

There’s yet another eye roll and then Peter is very cautiously lifting Tony onto his arms and carrying him out the door.

Tony swoons, just as promised, and is rewarded with a laugh that rumbles so deeply he can feel the vibrations in his soul.

“My hero,” Tony proclaims, and is not actually joking at all. Tony might have felt like his responsibility was to keep Peter safe all this time, but Peter saved him too.

* * *

The ship is awesome. Tony learns it’s called the Benatar, a replacement for the Milano that had been destroyed. Tony makes a comment about Alissa Milano and his taste in Rock and Roll which has Quill declaringTony to be his new favorite person in the whole galaxy. It’s a nice feeling, he supposes.

Peter, still holding Tony in his arms, whispers in his ear that Tony is his favorite person in the whole universe, so Tony obviously has to declare him the winner.

Peter, reluctantly, sets Tony down on one of the chairs in the cockpit and Tony has the unique opportunity of looking into the vastness of space for the first time and not feel any dread. Just the opposite, in fact. He feels such unbridled hope that it’s almost as if his ribcage is threatening to burst with it.

They’re going home. _Home_. They finally made it out of that damned room and that thrice-cursed planet and they’re — mostly — alright.

Fuck. Tony could cry with joy but then Peter would think he’s in pain and he’d get all mother hen on him which just won’t do.

Instead, Tony smiles brightly and says, “So which way is home?”

Peter gives him a fond smile while the rest share similar, understanding looks.

“That way,” Quill points out. “But not for light-years and light-years away. It’s all the way across the quadrant and then through a hyperdrive bridge and then you have to cross another two quadrants.”

Tony blinks at him for a good few seconds. “Well that’s annoying.”

“How long will that take?” Peter asks.

“Two months,” Rocket says.

Tony sputters. “Two— what?”

“We were on the other ship for almost two months, too,” Peter points out. He doesn’t look nearly as shocked as Tony but there is a tinge of sadness in his tone.

“Yeah, but they also kept hopping around from planet to planet and abducting more innocent people,” Tony points out.

Two freaking months. Jeez. He knows he should probably just be grateful they even got out in the first place, but for fuck’s sake, he’s been dreaming of home since the moment he got his ass zapped up into an alien slave ship, he doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to be at least a little bit bummed out to find out their return will still take a while.

“Yeah, but the slavers have all those big fancy ships with crazy engine powers and can cross the galaxy at much greater speeds,” Rockets informs them, not unkindly.

Nebula, screwdriver in hand as she tries to open up her arm — and hold on, what? — casually says, “They probably caught a ride on a portal, too. I know there are portals that open to Sakaar on specific dates but I don’t know the schedule. The slavers obviously do, it’s all part of their trade route.”

Tony shares a look with Peter who’s mouthing ‘trade route’ with such a disgusted face it makes Tony snort out a laugh.

Tony turns back to Nebula when she makes a muffled sound and finds her with the screwdriver in her mouth and fingers deep into a mesh of wires.

That just about sets Tony’s brain on fire. “For the love of god, just stop what you’re doing and get over here, blue.”

She stops what she’s doing to glare at him. “I’m Nebula.”

“Sure, blueberry, whatever. Now get your cute android ass over here so I don’t have to look at you mangling your arm even more than it already is.”

She simply narrows her eyes further and doesn’t move. Tony is aware of the sudden hush in the room but chooses to ignore it.

“I’m serious, blue moon, I’m this close to dragging myself over there and then you’ll have to deal with an angry Peter because I would hurt my bad leg and you really don’t want to deal with an angry Peter. He sulks. And he looks at you all disappointed and shit. It’s the worst.”

Peter hums in amusement by his side and Tony grins cheekily at him.

“I mean it,” Tony adds, fully prepared to make the trek over to her spot in the corner. He’s already found the perfect path for dragging himself on his ass with minimal speed bumps.

Nebula huffs and then, visibly reluctantly, gets up and stalks closer to him, distrustful eyes skimming the room. Everyone else is just looking at their interaction with almost bated breath, which Tony really doesn’t understand but that’s not his problem.

He pats the chair next to him and then takes her arm as soon as she sits, whistling at the complicated mess of wires before him.

“Got damaged in the escape, huh?” There’s a singed patch that goes from her wrist almost to her elbow and Tony is seriously impressed at the material she’s built from because those weapons can pack some serious punch and all she got is a black spot.

Tony got a freaking hole in his leg.

“Yes.”

Tony hums distractedly, quickly analyzing the wiring and determining what goes where and does what. It’s beautifully complex and yet at the same time it looks like a hodgepodge of different things. He remembers Gamora mentioning their father taking things from them and enhancing others and feels a surge of anger bubbling inside of him at the evidence.

How can a person do this to someone else? How can a so-called _father_?

Tony wants to rage at the man but there would be no point in that besides possibly spooking Nebula, so instead he settles for asking Rocket for some tools and quietly getting to work.

As if some major bomb has been defused by his words and Nebula’s acquiescence, everyone in the room suddenly starts chatting animatedly about things Tony is too busy to focus on.

He’s in his little engineering bubble, occasionally sharing words with Nebula whose replies are always curt and a bit apprehensive, but, slowly, she starts warming up to him and the apprehension turns into curiosity.

Peter places a comforting hand on Tony’s lower back while he chats with Quill and Mantis, and Tony finds himself relaxing completely, the pain in his leg almost forgotten, and the anxiety over going home dwindling to near negligible levels.

It’s been so long since he’s felt like this. Just letting himself focus on a project, his whole energy dedicated to finding out how something ticks, how he can make it better. He loves this, loves creating, loves coming up with new things way ahead of everyone else.

A giddy, child-like part of him can barely comprehend the fact that he’s playing with alien tech, having his first proper look at what the universe besides his little planet can create. It’s wonderful.

For the first time since they were taken away from their planet, Tony feels the closest to himself. Not a fighter, not a survivor — just an inventor.

He’s got a big grin gracing his lips as he readjusts some wires here and there, cuts a few things, adds others. In the end, he’s made at least eleven reparations and four improvements and his smile feels like it will be permanently stuck to his face.

“Try it out,” he says, carelessly throwing the last tool into Rocket’s box of goodies after he’s finished closing Nebula’s arm up. The tool falls into it with a metallic clank that barely registers among the level of noise surrounding them.

Nebula sends him a cautious look while she gingerly spreads her arm out, twisting it this way and that. Then she presses a couple of fingers to the panel and her whole arm becomes encased in an energy field.

That shuts everybody up immediately, a tension in the air almost palpable. In the sudden quiet, Tony can hear Nebula swallow dryly.

She looks up at him with big, unblinking eyes, expression utterly confused.

“It’s a force field,” Tony says with a shrug. “It’ll help defend you against most weapons. I only managed to get it across this arm but with more time and a few extra pieces I could probably get it all over your body.” She just keeps looking at him and Tony clears his throat, now feeling suddenly on the spot. “It’s, uh. Well, you can just deactivate it if you don’t like it or whatever. Sorry, I probably should’ve asked before I…” He trails off, uncomfortable with all the staring and the quiet.

This part about his inventions he doesn’t remember feeling. Usually he just gives people his toys and upgrades and then is out of the room before they have a chance to tell them if they love it or hate it.

He supposes he could probably blame the isolation of the room and the consequent engineering withdrawals for him making the foolish decision of leaving himself trapped after going on a genius bender.

Serves him right, he morosely thinks.

“Right then,” he says with false brightness. “I’m pretty tired now so if we could get going, Pete?”

Peter gives him one of those looks with convey so much emotion that Tony has to look away almost immediately. “Tony…”

The look is way too much, so Tony turns to Drax and offers him a pleasant smile. “Alright, Pete’s being a chatterbox, how ‘bout you take me back to my room, my fearsome giant?”

“I am not a giant, although I am indeed very fearsome,” Drax declares. He doesn’t make a move to help Tony out though. Damn him.

“Right.”

“Tony,” Peter tries again.

Tony valiantly ignores him. “Yeah, anywho, since everyone’s so keen on me staying here with the rest of the party, how about you tell me again about when Drax flew over the gladiator pit and Gamora dropped a bomb on the Grandmaster?”

“It was impressive,” Drax agrees.

“I don’t think it hit him,” Mantis says, voice dejectedly sad.

“There’s always next time,” Tony cheerfully tells them.

“Tony.” Gamora this time. Damn, he knew those two together would be trouble.

Tony continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I mean, personally I’ll leave the revenge to you guys. I’m pretty good with never setting foot on that damned planet ever again—”

“Thank you,” Nebula says, voice quiet but somehow cutting through his chatter like the sharpest of blades.

Tony chances a glance at her and she meets his eyes for the briefest second before quickly snapping it back to her arm, fingers glancing over the still activated shield.

He darts his eyes around the room awkwardly, clears his throat. “It’s, uh… You’re welcome, I guess. No biggie. Just rewired a couple things here and there, really.” Nebula looks back up just quickly enough to show him how very much she doesn’t believe him. Tony feels the tension in the room tugging at the part of him that’s desperate to pull the attention away from himself. “Your whole system is pretty cool, actually. A bit too messily built for my liking but it obviously does its job. Actually, there’s a couple things I’d like to take another look at if you’d let me. I have a few ideas, I just need—”

“How’d you do that?” Rockets cuts his rambling off, jumping onto Nebula’s lap and taking hold of her arm, intelligent eyes examining everything. Surprisingly, Nebula doesn’t object to the rough treatment at all.

“Uh, just, you know. Just did it. It’s kinda my thing.”

“Isn’t this your first time in space?” Quill asks.

Tony shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Never been before the whole abduction business. It’s been well over a year though.”

Peter shakes his head at him fondly in a gesture that is simultaneously copied by Gamora almost to the T.

Rocket gives him a baffled look, as much as a non-raccoon can do so. A surprising amount, it turns out. “And you just did _this_ , the first time you got your hands on unknown technology.”

Tony twirls one of his beard braids to steady his jittery fingers. “Well, it wasn’t really the first time, to be honest. I dabbled a bit with some Chitauri tech and Loki’s scepter.”

Nebula and Gamora snap identical shocked heads towards him.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Gamora says.

“Thanos’ scepter with the Mind Stone, you mean,” Nebula adds.

“Uh, I don’t know anything about Thanos’ scepter, we took it from Loki.”

There’s a beat of heavy silence, then, “Thanos caught him when he fell from the void, tortured him, and then used the stone to make him retrieve the Tesseract from Terra,” Gamora informs him. “The scepter was his.”

Tony blinks at her for a moment, his whole notion of the past decade rearranging itself.

“What the fuck.”

“Why did Thanos want the Tesseract?” Peter asks.

“Our father wants to collect all of the Infinity Stones so he can erase half the living souls in the universe,” Nebula blithely tells them. And seriously, this kind of thing should be said with a trigger warning or something, Tony’s not sure how many life altering bits of information he can be told before his heart decides to fritz out.

There’s a long beat after that statement, then Tony goes, “Okay. We’ll get back to that at another point when my body is not crying out in pain.”

Peter is on him in a second, scooping him up onto his arms and then walking back down to the room they’ve taken over. Tony waves at them cheerfully. “Bye everyone. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Peter snorts and then holds Tony with just one hand while the other holds on to the ladder. Tony really does envy him his spider powers sometimes.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did there,” Peter says when they’re almost back to the room.

Tony gives him his most innocent look. “I was just saying goodnight.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter knowingly says. Then his eyes soften and he puts Tony gently back onto the bed. “It was pretty incredible what you did for Nebula, Tony.”

Tony curses his leg and Peter’s sneakiness for leaving him trapped for this conversation again.

“It was nothing. Stop making it a big deal,” he dismissively says. He makes grabby hands at Peter and then pouts his lips. “Now come lie next to me and kiss me better. I have a hole in my leg, you know.”

Peter roll his eyes but his face is full of fondness which ruins the whole thing he was trying out. “Yeah, alright. I’ll just tell them to leave the thank you celebration for tomorrow.”

Tony gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

Peter, the giant asshole, just laughs at him until there’s tears in his eyes.

Tony decides he forgives him anyways.

* * *

So it turns out that time in Sakaar works different. Or rather, the portals to and fro act almost like time travel bridges, which means that they screw the whole concept of time like some wacky Doctor Who episode.

Tony remembers hearing Gamora complain about how long she had to wait for her crew to come get her while Nebula told her it really hadn’t been that long, but he’d honestly been too preoccupied with escaping without being blown to pieces — hah, almost made it — to have given it much thought at the time.

Then he hears Quill say, “These have been the worst two of months of my life,” which results in Gamora sending him the most loathsome glare Tony has ever been witness to.

Everyone sort of stops eating, gets a good look at Gamora’s expression, and then just as quickly dives back into their meal, the whole table ominously quiet.

“Two hundred and sixty-one days in that hell-hole waiting for you,” Gamora grits out through clenched teeth.

Quill blinks at her dumbly then says, “Okay, yeah, that sounds like a lot, but it really wasn’t that long at all, babe. Maybe they messed up your sleep schedule?”

Tony winces, he can just picture the way this is going to go.

Sure enough, Gamora slams her hands onto the table so loudly that Olive, previously asleep in Tony’s arms, startles violently and starts wailing bloody murder.

Tony shushes her softly, bounces her from side to side like he’s seen in the movies because he clearly still doesn’t really know what to do with a baby. It kind of works, although it’s slow progress and Olive’s wails have now turned into quiet sobs.

“Is that my imagination too?” Gamora asks, hand flying towards Olive.

Tony looks up, one hand rubbing soothing circles on the baby’s back, and meets Quill’s contrite look.

“Yeah, I guess not. You sure she’s not mine, though?”

And then many things happen at once.

Gamora throws a glass of water at Quill’s face before stomping off to god knows where, Mantis following after her but not before sending Quill a disapproving look.

Nebula pulls out a knife from one of her many hiding places and twirls it menacingly in her hands while sending Quill a neutral look which is surprisingly scarier than a glare.

Rocket goes, “That wasn’t cool, dude.”

And Groot says, “I am Groot.”

Drax pleasantly informs him that, “In my planet that comment would lead to a fight to the death,” before giving both Quill and Tony expectant looks.

Peter scoots closer to Tony. “Don’t even think about it,” he says to Quill, with such viciousness that Tony spares a moment to look at him in surprise.

And Tony, he simply turns back to Quill, smiles his best careless smile, and says, “Have you even had a good look at the baby? I think you’ll find it very hard to say she’s not mine.” He rubs a gentle thumb over Olive’s still furrowed brow, his smile turning genuine when she meets his eyes with those big brown ones — identical, his primal side supplies. Proof. “Gamora told me a lot about you, you know,” Tony says conversationally. “I think the first thing she said went something like, he’s an idiot but he’s my idiot.” He looks back up at Quill and his gaze turns steely. “We went through hell, Quill. I think you should take a second to think next time before you go running your mouth.”

At least Quill has the decency to look remorseful. “Shit. I really didn’t mean… Yeah. I screwed up.”

He gets up, presumably to go after Gamora, and Tony watches him go with considering eyes.

Olive makes a sound of complaint, her lower lip wobbling, and Tony cradles her over his shoulder and runs a distracted hand over her back.

“So do you guys know why the time difference? Like, does time run faster in Sakaar or…?”

“The portals,” Rocket explains, diving into theories about how and why. Mostly the consensus seems to be that the Grandmaster is an asshole of universal proportions and likes to mess with people for fun.

Peter turns to Tony. “Do you think it hasn’t been as long back home?”

“I dunno, Pete. Probably. Unless our ship didn’t take one of those portals and went the regular way. Then probably not. I really don’t know,” he says, feeling the stirrings of frustration at the fact. Tony hates not knowing, hates not understanding. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

“Yeah. It’d be better, maybe? But also maybe not cause then people will be like, you’ll go back to normal in no time, and we’ll be like, uh, no, not really. You know?”

Tony does. He didn’t know Peter was thinking about things like that at all, but of course he is. Peter is wicked smart and it’s not like they’ve had much to do for the past months except think and think and think, and obviously a good amount of those thoughts was dedicated to picturing what it would be like when they got home.

“We’ll tell them to shove it if that happens,” Tony says, and Peter grins at him.

“You two are disgusting to watch,” Drax suddenly announces. “If you’re about to copulate, don’t do it where everyone eats.”

Peter sputters while Rocket and Groot laugh at them. “We weren’t— what? We’re not—” 

Drax gives him an unconvinced look. “I have seen Quill and Gamora doing their mating dance. It’s disturbing. And it starts just like this.”

“Alright, big guy, we’ll keep it out of the dinning areas,” Tony says placatingly, barely containing a laugh.

Olive makes a little sound and then reaches for Tony’s beard, grabbing a braid and sucking it into her mouth. It’s her new favorite thing to do. Tony never thought he’d ever be okay with something like this without thinking _gross_ and handing off the baby to whoever was responsible for its creation. It just goes to show what being abducted by aliens does to a person.

“Now _that_ is disgusting,” Rocket says instead, wrinkling his nose in Tony’s direction.

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic. You try keeping a baby entertained in a small spaceship with about zero toys.”

“We should stop by Xandar to buy some on the way,” Nebula says, tone as stoic as ever.

Tony looks at her with surprise and then smiles brightly. “That’s nice of you, blueberry.”

Nebula immediately drops her gaze and starts sharpening her knife. “She’s my niece.”

And would you look at that. She totally is. Tony had been too preoccupied with other things — namely survival, escape, more survival — to think of the repercussions of him having a kid. Somehow, the obvious had escaped him, but it’s practically blaring at him now.

He made a _baby_ , an actual half-human half-Zehoberei child, and there’s a whole world beyond their little 117,38 square feet room now which means that there are more people in this baby’s life than just Gamora, Peter, and Tony.

It’s a weird thought. Tony’s barely gotten used to the idea of having a kid, now he has to acknowledge that he has to share her because she has family other than just the three of them. Hell, she’s got family back on Earth too.

It’s weird, but also, he now realizes, actually quite nice. It means there’s more people to love her, more people to take care of her. To protect her.

Huh. This might actually turn out to be a good thing.

Tony smiles softly. “She is,” he replies. “You can definitely be the Aunt that spoils her. Pepper might give you a run for your money, though, just so you’re prepared.”

Nebula looks back up quickly in question and then narrows her eyes in determination. “We’ll see,” she ominously says, and Tony tries very hard not to laugh.

It’s a whole thing, dealing with Nebula. She’s almost like a wild animal, feral and fierce when defending herself and her family, yet she has no idea what to do when someone is being nice to her. Tony decides he likes her a lot.

Peter shares a fond look with him and Tony has to bite his lip to stop from cracking.

“Alright, alright. I’ll set the course for Xandar,” Rocket grumbles, heading off to the cockpit.

“You will like it there,” Drax informs them. “I will show you the place were we destroyed Ronan. It was a fearsome battle.” The grin in his face is slightly manic which has Tony sharing a concerned look with Peter.

“Yeah, bud, can’t wait to see it,” Tony cheerfully replies. He shakes his head. What a bunch of weirdos.

Olive makes a noise while she pulls on Tony’s braid which he takes for agreement of his mental declaration. His daughter is a total genius. And also way too strong for a baby. He winces and gives her a spoon to play with instead.

“I am Groot,” Groot says, somehow sounding very morose. Tony doesn’t know how he learned to understand tree-speak, but he thinks he’s getting there.

“It was also the place where Groot died,” Nebula informs them in that same neutral voice. Tony does a double take from her to Groot and finds the grumpy teenager with an even more sullen look. “He was older,” Nebula says by way of explanation. “He died to save his friends.”

At that, Groot perks up a bit and Tony and Peter share identical smiles.

“Would you look at that, our very own superhero right at the lunch table.” Tony sends him a cheeky smile and chuckles when Groot ducks his head in embarrassment.

Now Tony is also very curious to find out how one goes from dead-tree to reborn-tree, but he supposes such questions can wait.

“That’s super cool, bud,” Peter says cheerfully, which somehow results in Groot retelling the story with intermittent translations from Drax and Nebula, and then Rocket comes back to join them and starts telling it all over again because they were all wrong. Mantis comes back too, bluntly informing them Quill and Gamora are very busy making up with passionate sex, and then giving them all a pleasant smile when the whole table erupts in protests of too much information.

Tony finds himself smiling almost nonstop. He leans into Peter, basks in the feeling of his warm skin, in the comfort of his touch. Peter is grinning too, and it feels like a balm to Tony’s soul to watch him interact with everyone, to catch a glimpse here and there of the Peter he was _before_.

Tony plays with Olive, holds Peter’s hand, laughs and teases and jokes, and thinks, maybe they’ll be okay after all.

* * *

Surprisingly, or perhaps less so, spending long periods of time in a spaceship is much less fun than anticipated.

Of course, Tony had already technically experienced it with the whole abduction, but he doesn’t think it counts at all and stubbornly chooses to ignore it as part of his comparison repertoire.

But it turns out that flying through space with only a few stops for fuel and supplies — and presents for the baby, Nebula seems very determined to take the whole competition with a woman who’s not even aware there’s a competition yet very seriously — is quite boring.

The visiting other planets part is actually incredibly cool and Tony can barely believe he’s getting such an opportunity. Now that they’re free of their enslavement and he doesn’t resent being on an alien planet, he’s actually come to enjoy it spectacularly. And the tech, dear god, there’s so much tech and he’s acquired a not so insubstantial debt to his saviors with promises of paying it back with interest once they get him home because he obviously needs to get his hands on as much tech as he can get.

Peter, for his part, is just as excited, or more so, than Tony. Tony has a permanent smile on his lips whenever they land into a new planet and he gets to see Peter’s expression filled with joy and almost childish glee. He thinks he’s become slightly addicted to the sight.

But the actual traveling through the emptiness of space with so many of them in close quarters, one of whom a baby who is still learning that there’s no need to cry just because you have a dirty diaper, daddy’s got it handled — it’s certainly a lot.

Tony is loving the cultural experience, but he seriously can’t wait to go home.

On the plus side, once they got to Xandar, Gamora had gone off on her own and then came back with a bottle which Tony was told in no uncertain terms not to “Drop it, break it, spill it or waste it, or you will be very sorry.”

Tony had just looked at her expectantly until she realized she’d actually not explained a thing and then she’d, much more gently, told him that it was a regenerative medicine which would make his leg grow back.

“In time,” she’d added, when Tony was sure that there were tears threatening to pile in his eyes. “And even then, it might never go back to the way it was before,” she’d said with a sympathetic look.

Tony had not cared, he’d thrown himself at her as much as he could while hobbling on one leg, and had been delighted when she gave in to the hug and held him for longer than he’d expected.

And it works too. It’s slow-going, and Tony will probably still have a hole when he makes it back to Earth, but it’s already a good third of the way back to normal, the muscle tissue literally knitting itself back again.

It’s also painful as fuck. But Tony takes the painkillers Rocket gave him and keeps the worst of the hurt to himself because Peter is way too worried already and has taken to hovering. Ugh. Tony hates the hovering. He loves it, but he really hates it too.

Tony thinks it’s becoming more and more obvious that being locked in a room for four hundred and fifty-three days obviously left some sequelae. When he’d reluctantly asked Peter for the exact number of days they’d spent enslaved, he’d almost had a conniption right there.

So actually getting back home is slow-going, but it’s getting closer and closer every day. In fact, Rocket has just informed them that a there’s a hyperdrive bridge they’d not counted on which means that now it will take much less time than previously anticipated.

As in, they will be home tomorrow.

Tony is freaking out just a little bit because, while tomorrow certainly beats another week, it’s also _tomorrow_. He’d not made any plans to get home tomorrow, has no idea what he’ll do once he’s actually home.Have a proper shower and then maybe a good long bath, probably, and then get a cheeseburger because it’s kind of a tradition at this point after being kidnapped-slash-abducted. Change into a nice suit and have a bonfire for his dress. Or maybe just jeans and a T-shirt. Perhaps his AC/DC one.

There’s so many options.

Tony feels like his mind is whirling faster and faster and he feels his sanity slipping a bit. Just a little bit, really. A sensible amount.

He holds on to Olive, who’s taken to spending most of the day in his arms even though she can crawl now — and wasn’t that a whole other conversation. Gamora had just looked at him when he said he was pretty sure babies weren’t supposed to crawl at three months old and then informed him that her people grew fast for the first few years.

Tony had taken that in the same way as he’d been taking in everything else — with a small amount of freaking out, a lot of scientific curiosity, and then a shrug and an ‘it is what it is’. Gamora’s attitude towards life was perhaps just a little bit catching.

Olive squirms a bit in his arms and makes a protesting sound which has Tony realizing that he’d been holding her just a tad too tight. He kisses her in apology and is rewarded with a disgruntled look in the form of furrowed brows and downturned lips. It’s a very cute look, so he kisses her again and again until she’s giggling in his arms and then squealing with laughter.

“You’re very good with her,” Gamora tells him.

Tony startles. He’d completely gotten lost in his own head and then with Olive, and had not been paying attention to the rest of the room at all. At some point everyone had cleared out, and there’s only Gamora and him and Olive left. He wonders if it was purposeful.

Tony gives her a lopsided smile. “I dunno about that, I think she’s just a ‘go with the flow’ type of kid.”

Olive makes a sound and reaches for Gamora’s hair, which she indulgently lets her play with. Doesn’t even wince when Olive pulls on it, though she does send Tony a grateful look when he holds Olive’s chubby little hand and tells her to be careful.

Olive simply looks at him with her big, intelligent eyes before turning back to her mother. But she doesn’t pull on it again, which has Tony kissing her head and murmuring, “Well done.”

“Like that,” Gamora says, her tone soft and with a hint of something else Tony can’t decipher.

He lifts his face up from Olive’s head, reluctantly leaving behind his fill of baby smell — and that was a whole other trip, finding out there really is such a thing. Even for half-alien babies.

“Trial and error,” he says with a shrug. “And I think maybe my experience with the bots helps.”

Gamora graces him with a look of fond amusement which has Tony smirking in response. Then her face sobers up a fraction and he frowns in concern.

“What’s bothering you, green bean?”

Gamora shakes her head, then stops, tilts it from side to side, lips twisting this way and that. “It’s not bothering me per se, I’m just not sure how to say this.”

Tony sits up straighter, gives Olive one of her new favorite toys — the plushy which looks a lot like a dinosaur — and gives Gamora his full attention.

“Is it something bad?”

“No. Well, not necessarily.”

Tony’s concern rises up a notch. “Just spit it out, lime pie, you’re stressing me out. And I have a bad heart so you really don’t wanna be doing that without a defibrillator on hand.”

Gamora gives him a look and then sighs. She places a hand on Olives’ hair, gingerly almost, twirling her fingers into Olive’s curls.

“I never wanted children,” she finally says, almost a whisper.

Tony’s breath whooshes out of him.

“Uh, yeah. I remember you mentioning that. Kind of a moot point right now though, isn’t it?”

Gosh he was almost feeling the palpitations and it turns out all of this was for something he already knew.

Gamora keeps her gaze staunchly on Olive. “I did make her, yes. And I love her, obviously. But…” She raises her eyes and Tony sees it, knows what she’s about to say before it comes out. “I don’t want to raise her, Tony. I’m not… I don’t know how to be a mother.”

Gamora’s face is almost pleading for understanding, for him not to hate her. And he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. He’d been scared out of his mind since the moment he noticed Gamora’s stomach growing in a way that could definitely not be attributed to too much food intake. Hell, he’s still kind of scared even now.

There’s so many different ways he can mess this it up. He’s had all kinds of examples on how to be a parent, and most of them have been pretty shitty.

“I don’t know how to be a dad either,” Tony points out reasonably. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to convince her, though, because he very much gets it. But it feels almost like he’s being a bad dad if he doesn’t at least try to fight for Olive. “Never thought I’d have a kid, to be honest, figured I’d just screw them up.”

“You’re doing a very good job so far,” Gamora informs him. “And she really loves you.”

“She loves you too, G. You’re her mom.”

Gamora smiles sadly. “I can still be her mother, Tony.” She tickles Olive softly and is rewards with a giggle. Tony’s happy to see the sadness leaving her smile as a result. “I’ll come visit,” she says. “We— The Guardians, we’ll keep doing our thing—”

“Your traveling the galaxy and fighting crime thing?” Tony gives her a teasing smile and she bumps his shoulder in return.

“And being badasses, yes.” She nods with faux seriousness. The tension in her jaw visibly eases and her shoulders relax a fraction.

“And then you’ll come visit.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll bring her lots of presents?”

Gamora bites her lip to hold in a smile but it’s a miserable attempt at best. “Of course.”

Tony nods seriously. “Good. That’s good.”

And it is. Would he like her to be more of a part of Olive’s life? Of course. At this point he’s thinking the more the merrier, just shower his kid with love so she never grows up doubting it. But he gets it. He thinks at some point in his life — actually, during most of his adult years, if he’s honest with himself, he’d probably have done the same thing.

He wasn’t dad material then, not until he got his shit together. Orgot his shit semi-reasonably not scattered all over the place, anyways. Gamora is pretty good with Olive, though, not at all like the irresponsible jackass Tony had been. But there’s a difference between being good at something and actually enjoying it and wanting it. And a kid is a big thing. The last thing he wants is for her to stay only to be miserable and resentful and regretful because that’s a surefire way to mess a kid up which Tony knows from firsthand experience. 

So yeah. Tony gets it. Is maybe even a little bit glad that they don’t have to figure out intergalactic custody arrangements. But he’s still kind of sad on Olive’s behalf that she won’t have her mom always with her.

Gamora leans into him with a sigh. Olive turns around to show them her plushy and grins brightly, all gummy and droolly, when both of them coo at her.

“You’re going to be a great father,” Gamora says with a solemn nod.

Tony feels his cheeks burn and is glad that she’s not looking at him at all.

“Uh, uhm… Thanks, key lime. That’s, uh, I’ll try. I’ll keep trying.”

“You’ll succeed,” she says, not an ounce of uncertainty in her tone. It makes Tony almost ready to believe her. “And you’ll have Peter with you.”

Tony’s heart does a little flutter then, a picture forming itself in his mind and imprinting there, unbidden but desperately wanted. But he can’t go that far, can’t let himself think about it yet.

“Uh, yeah. Pete’s great. He’ll protect her from anything.”

Gamora turns to give him a considering look and then her expression morphs into one of her trademarked ‘please give me patience to deal with these idiots’.

Tony finds the whole thing incredibly uncalled for and decides to cheerfully ignore her.

“Alright then, so next time you come to visit you better bring me some really cool tech because I already have all sorts of plans for what I’ve gotten so far and I think I might just be done with it when you next show up. Did I show you what I did with the translation devices you got me when we were in Xandar? No? Oh man, you’re gonna love it. Well, I don’t know if you’ll love it but you’re definitely gonna flip…”

Tony keeps talking, going a mile a minute about his latest engineering sprees and Gamora sits by his side the whole time, leaning on his arms and letting him speak, occasionally intervening with her own dry comments. Olive decides to crawl away and find more toys to play with and they both let her go with a careful eye and then jump at the same time when she gets a hold of one of Rocket’s boxes and starts to open it.

And it’s really quite great, Tony thinks, this little family that he’s somehow found for himself. They’re all a bit weird and a bit broken and bit lost, but they somehow still fit together.

* * *

Tony saw Earth from space, once. When he dove into a portal with a nuclear bomb in his arms and came out the other side with a broken suit and a fresh collection of nightmares for his PTSD. It was an image he’d tried hard to erase, before.

Now, Tony thinks he might very much live for the rest of his life and never want to forget it.

The whole entering the solar system part was like his teenage self’s wet dreams, with Peter right by his side practically vibrating with excitement and both of them sharing equally nerdy looks. They were in literal science geek heaven.

Getting closer and closer to Earth though, to their _home_ , that’s a whole other experience.

Tony grabs Peter’s hand, interlocks their fingers, rubs his thumb over and over the back of Peter’s hand. Peter leans his head on Tony’s shoulder, and there’s a wet spot that grows there, seeping through the fabric of Tony’s dress, but he will not point it out because there might also be tears in his own eyes.

Home. They made it _home_.

There are definitely tears in his eyes now, and then he feels another smaller, familiar hand hold his from his other side and can’t believe how lucky he is to have found this family.

“You have a pretty planet,” Gamora says, her voice barely above a whisper.

All Tony can reply with is an incredibly wet, “Yeah.”

“I don’t remember it being so big,” Quill says, voice almost reverent, and then Tony remembers that he’d been kidnapped too. This was also his home.

“You haven’t been back before?” he asks.

Quill shakes his head. “Nah. It was really far and… Uh, well. I think everyone’s probably dead anyways,” he says awkwardly. Tony catches a hint of sadness and vows to look into any possible living family member he might have. He doesn’t think it’ll be a proper thank you, but it might be a nice step.

“You should stay for a while,” Peter says, his voice quiet but surprisingly steady considering there’s still tears free flowing down his cheeks. He still has his head on Tony’s shoulder which cannot be entirely comfortable, but Tony will certainly not be the one to mention it. He’s taken to hoarding all these small little moments of contact like a dragon building this treasure. “I’ll show you all the cool places in Queens. Manhattan’s okay too, I guess.”

Tony elbows him playfully. “Just okay, he says. Pft.”

Peter simply pulls on Tony’s hand to bring their bodies closer and Tony basks in the feeling of him while still absorbing the breathtaking sight before them.

“So where are we landing?” Rocket asks from the pilot’s seat.

Tony, jarringly brought out of his reverie, takes a moment to process the words. He’s about to give Rocket the coordinates he’s had ingrained into his brain for years when a thought occurs him.

“Uh, hold on. Do you have a cloaking feature on this baby or something? ‘Cause the last time spaceships showed up in New York out of the blue it was not a pretty sight.” 

Quill sends him an affronted look. “The Benatar is a top quality ship,” he says. “I only steal from the best.”

Tony and Peter snort out identical laughs, look at each other for a minute, and then laugh about that too. It’s the best kind of stress-relief, and Tony feels the tight ball in his chest loosen up a bit. Hearing Peter’s laugh, in an of itself, is still a gift that Tony can barely believe he’s worthy of.

He drums his fingers on his good thigh, excitement thrumming through him. “Alright then, better use those top quality cloaks before we get nuked.”

“Yikes, I remember nuclear bombs,” Quill says with an exaggerated shiver. “Not pretty.”

Tony shakes his head, flashes of panic and cold and empty going through his mind. “Not pretty at all.”

Peter squeezes his hand in sympathy and Tony feels himself relax a little bit more. 

Tony gives Rocket the coordinates for the Compound only for Rocket to tell him that he has no idea what those mean, obviously, because they’re not in the apparently intergalactical directional system.

So that’s a fun twenty minutes spent circling the Earth in search of North America and then going down in what Tony and Peter come to an agreement — after a seriously heated debate — is the right spot. They end up just a few hundred miles too far up north but then quickly correct it and manage to land perfectly in the middle of the Compound.

On the plus side, all of Tony’s anxiety has now pretty much vanished.

Tony grabs a hold of the Benatar’s communication device and hacks into the Compound’s system to tell FRIDAY they’re here because he is very much not keen on being shot at by his own defense system. And he built those himself so he is very much aware of the damage they can make.

FRIDAY’s voice echoes through the Benatar and Tony feels tears running down his cheek completely without his permission.

“Boss? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, baby girl. It’s really me. You’re not gonna blow us up if we uncloak the ship, are you?”

There’s a pause and then, “I’m going to require an identity confirmation code,” and Tony is so happy that he cries wetly as he rattles off the code he’d programmed into her protocols when he created her. “Confirmation granted,” FRIDAY says, sounding so very humanly shocked. “Welcome home, boss. You’ve been missed.”

“I missed you too, Fri.”

Peter holds Tony’s arm tightly, as if needing the reassurance that he’s there, that everything is real, and Tony wraps an arm around him and kisses his neck and says, “Fuck, we’re really home, Pete.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we really are.”

“I’ve alerted security as well as Colonel Rhodes and Miss Potts of your return. Colonel Rhodes is on the premisses and already on the way. Miss Potts wishes to inform you that she’s getting on the car as we speak and that you better not disappear again or she will kill you.”

Tony chuckles wetly. “That’s my Pep.”

Peter stills just a bit, almost imperceptibly if it weren’t for their bodies still touching. It’s a small thing, but it’s enough that Tony notices.

He kisses his cheek gently in appeasement. “Not like that, Pete.”

Peter smiles at him, soft and just a fraction too brittle, and then shrugs it off like it hadn’t bothered him.

Tony’s prepared to say more, to make sure he gets it, that he doesn’t doubt Tony’s… what? He’s never said how he feels. Neither of them have. But Peter knows, right? He has to know. There’s no possible way he doesn’t know how important he is to Tony.

Peter extricates himself casually from Tony’s hold but gives Tony a comforting smile in the process. Tony is not sure how to feel about it, but he chooses to go with carefree.

“So can we get out now, Fri?” Peter asks.

“Peter? You’re back too,” FRIDAY says, sounding incredibly bewildered. Tony chokes up even further. His girl has grown up so much without him, she’s learned all these human emotions and he wasn’t there to watch it or guide her.

Damn, fatherhood has made him into a sap.

“Yeah, Fri. You can’t imagine how good it is to hear your voice.”

“I have miss you as well,” she says.

Tony grins like a fool. “Alright let’s get out of this baby, I think it’s time for some fresh air.”

Quill uncloaks the ship, Rocket opens the latch, and then that’s it. Freedom.

Home.

Tony’s step falters and it’s Peter who links their fingers together, smiles at him in understanding, and then gently nudges Tony along down the landing.

When his feet hit the ground he feels like he could start crying all over again and not even care at the figure he’d paint. He doesn’t though, but it’s a very close thing.

“Pretty,” Gamora says right behind him.

Tony turns to offer her a bright grin. “You can always stay,” he says with a playful wink.

She merely makes an exasperated face and holds a squirming Olive in her arms a little tighter. Protective. Tony wants to tell her that there’s no need, this is Tony’s home, no one will harm his daughter, but then he remembers that no one knows she’s his daughter, all they’ll see is a green baby. Alien.

Tony steps in front of them both and has half a mind to tell them to go back inside before he hears familiar footsteps approaching and the distinct mechanical whirl of the prosthetic braces he built.

He turns around and rushes as fast as his damaged leg allows right into Rhodey, crashing into him with a dull thud. Rhodey’s arms close around him for a long while, both of them just breathing each other in. Neither of them says anything until they hear an “I am Groot,” and then Rhodey pulls back and takes in Tony’s rag-tag group of rescuers with surprising aplomb.

“Well then. You’ve been busy, Tones.”

And Tony laughs and laughs and laughs until his stomach hurts and there are tears in his eyes, and then maybe he’s not laughing anymore at all, is actually just full on sobbing into his best friend’s arms, but it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. This is his Rhodey.

“Fuck, I missed you, platypus.”

Rhodey wipes away tears from his own eyes and gives Tony a bright smile. “I missed you too, Tones. I’m getting really tired of thinking you died and then you go and rescue yourself and find your way home.”

Tony lets out a choked up sound. “Not this time, Rhodey. This time they saved me. Us,” he adds, gesturing at Peter who’s remained almost fixed to his spot next to Gamora.

Rhodey visibly sags at the sight. “Peter. Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re okay. Your aunt is going to be beyond herself.”

Peter gives him a shaky smiles and says, “Hey, Mr. Colonel Rhodey,” which has Rhodey rolling his eyes fondly at him and then dragging him into a hug.

“I’m really glad you’re alive, kid.”

Tony winces a bit at that last part. He’d worked so hard to force himself out of the habit of calling Peter kid that he could almost convince himself that Peter wasn’t thirty years younger than him.

Tony has an unsolicited flash of imagination of both of them telling their friends and family just exactly what they spent over a year and half on an alien planet doing and very nearly wants to walk back into the Benatar and speed away into a whole other galaxy. Nearly.

“Alright, alright. Let him breathe, honey bear, sheesh.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes at him but Peter sends him a grateful look and scoots just a bit closer. Tony wants desperately to hold his hand and not let go anymore, but he suddenly doesn’t know if he can. Doesn’t know how it’ll be taken.

Back up there, with a whole galaxy completely unaware of their identities, it was easy to continue acting the same way they had in their room. To continue whatever sort of relationship they’d had. But they’d never actually spoken about it. They just were.

Now though, Tony unexpectedly feels as if by simply stepping out of the ship things between them have shifted. Changed. Peter is still everything to him, and Tony doesn’t think there’ll ever be a time where he won’t be, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be. Doesn’t know if Peter wants it.

Now, with their feet firmly planted on Earth, with someone from their past — from _before_ — standing in front of them, and with more of their friends beyond the Compound walls, Tony doesn’t know how to act.

He is suddenly very aware that he’s meant to be Peter’s mentor and maybe friend, but definitely not anything more. Is reminded that he’s thirty years his senior and a twenty-one — twenty-two? Tony really has lost track of birthdays — is supposed to be with someone much more age-appropriate, not a middle-aged man with more issues than a New York Times magazine.

It crashes into him harshly, this sharp realization. Reality. He’d been sorely missing a reality check, and now to get one as soon as he stepped foot on Earth leaves him reeling.

But it’s necessary, he tells himself. Perhaps a bit too forcefully — his brain has a hard time understanding the reality of things sometimes when fighting against what he wants. But it must be right, he tries to convince himself. Up there was one thing, down here is a whole other.

So Tony stays back. He offers Peter a smile but not his hand, and Peter remains just as distant.

So Peter knows it too, Tony concludes. Of course Peter knows it’s not right. Why is Tony disappointed it’s not different?

It does kill Tony a little bit. Or more than a little bit, if he’s wanting to be honest — which he’s not. But he’s mature enough to put it aside and focus on the present.

Rhodey looks at him again with that big smile, categorizing every new thing about him, and Tony hopes that his torment is not visible in his face. That his friend’s perceptive eyes don’t strip him bare.

To his surprise, Rhodey says nothing of the sort. Instead, he does almost a double take, eyes narrowed, and curls his lips as if something has personally offended him.

“Tones. The fuck happened to your beard, man? There’s things dangling off of them.”

The relief is immediate and a breath of fresh air. Tony bites his lip not to laugh but he distinctly hears Peter and Gamora snickering in the background.

“It’s all the new rage, Rhodey, keep up with the times,” he says flippantly and receives a fond shake of the head in return.

Tony introduces Rhodey to the Guardians, introduces him to his daughter, gathering her from Gamora’s arms and ignoring the unimpressed look she’s been trying to give him for a few minutes now.

Rhodey’s mouth drops as he looks from Olive to Tony to Gamora and back. Then says, “Well, to be honest I’d kind of expected to meet one of your surprise offspring at some point in my life. I’ve been prepared for this moment for years. I have a speech and everything, if you wanna hear it.”

Tony punches him lightly with his free hand, which has Olive giggling. Then he feels bad for teaching her violent methods and spares a moment to be depressed at what parenting has done to him.

“I’ll have you know I’ve always been Durex’s number one client, but this little one was a special circumstance,” he says, nibbling on Olive’s foot and praying that particular conversation can be delayed until, oh, forever would be good. “Now please let’s go inside because I haven’t been home in— How long was it again, Pete?”

“Five hundred and fifty-seven days,” Peter helpfully supplies, his smile just the smallest bit too fixed.

Tony feels something in him constrict at the sight, wants to go over and wrap an arm around his waist.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah, that. A fucking long time, Rhodey. I just really wanna go home. And I want a cheeseburger. Ask FRIDAY to order me a cheeseburger, will ya? Actually, ask her for like, twenty. Can you believe these guys never had a cheeseburger?”

He keeps on talking as he walks with Rhodey and Olive towards the Compound, the rest following along with distant chatter. Tony is honestly too overwhelmed to play host, he really just fucking wants to go to his room and lock himself up until everything dies down. But he can’t.

They settle down in the Avengers’ main living room after having successfully ignored all of the gobsmacked looks from the staff on their way there. Tony is very proud of that little fact.

Rhodey calls May and she screams so loudly that Tony hears it from across the room before Rhodey informs them she’s leaving the hospital and on her way. Tony asks FRIDAY for burgers and pizzas to feed a hungry crowd and hopes that the food will come in time to save him from May’s rage.

Rhodey tells him that the rest of the Avengers are away in Norway with Thor for some kind of training exercise, but he called them as soon as FRIDAY let him know Tony was back which means they should be on their way. Tony is quietly relieved, though. It’s already so much. Everything is just _too much_. He’s glad that he at least has a few hours of just Rhodey, and eventually Pepper and May, to settle in.

The Guardians all lounge around the room in various stages of exploration — Rocket in particular seems very interested in finding out where FRIDAY’s servers are so he can take her apart. She tells him in no uncertain terms that she will have to apply lethal force if he so much as leaves the room so he’s settled for sitting down on the coffee table, feels dangling off the edge, and asking her all kinds of questions.

Groot and Mantis discover the TV and FRIDAY helpfully displays the movie library to their collective awe. Quill walks around with curious eyes, pausing every once in a while with a surprised sound and excited eyes pointing at some new discovery. Drax chooses to splatter himself on the rug and take a nap. Nebula leans stiffly against the wall, practically hidden in a corner. Gamora is the only one who behaves relatively normal, sprawling casually on the L-shaped couch with her hands behind her head.

Tony watches the scene with a soft smile on his lips and deposits Olive onto the floor where she immediately starts crawling towards Peter. That makes his heart twinge slightly, but there’s also a surge of warmth when Peter flops down onto the floor and scoops her up in his arms.

Peter doesn’t look at Tony once, but Tony figures he’d only have eyes for his baby girl too and tries not to let it hurt.

When Tony turns back to Rhodey, he’s met with an assessing look which does absolutely not have him squirming in his seat. When FRIDAY announces Pepper’s arrival, it’s a relief.

Pepper comes into the room like a whirlwind, all glorious purpose and vindictive rage.

Tony gets up, grins at her brightly as he watches her run all the way into his arms, collapsing into him with choked sobs and relieved words. Tony holds her, breathes her in, rubs soothing hands over her back and hair.

“Wow. How many speed limits did you break on the way here?” She makes a sound which he takes to mean all of them and then some, and hugs her tighter in return. “I’m okay, Pep. Really. All in one piece. Well, mostly,” he adds, because he still does walk with a limp and she had obviously noticed.

Rhodey had noticed too, and Tony had told him they could be cyborg buddies together now. It had earned him another fond look which Tony was hoarding like a squirrel preparing for winter.

“Christ, Tony. Don’t you ever do that to me again. Ever.”

Tony nods dutifully. “Noted. I’ll definitely tell the big bad aliens to go pick on someone else next time.”

Pepper wipes a tear from her cheek and then rolls her eyes. Another one for Tony’s collection. He receives a smile too, which is very close to a jackpot in his opinion.

“I really missed your snark.”

“And I really missed you bossing me around and teaching me how to be a real boy.”

Pepper lets out a wet chuckle and says, “Tell me everything. _Everything_. Don’t skimp on any details.”

Tony runs a hand through his freshly-cut hair — Mantis had been very eager to cut both his and Peter’s hair and Tony had let her go wild. The only thing he’d kept was his beard, though trimmed back some. There are certain things that need to be done by a professional.

“Uh, can we wait for May? This isn’t really something meant for telling twice.”

Tony’s eyes catch Peter’s for a moment before Peter goes back to playing with Olive, gaze unreadable. Tony sags and sits down on the sofa in between Pepper and Rhodey, chatting idly about everything unrelated to their time away.

Halfway between telling a story about yet another of Pepper’s epic take-downs of misogynistic business execs, Pepper freezes mid-sentence, eyes darting from one way to the other shrewdly. Then she turns to Tony, deadpan.

“There are aliens in your living room.”

“Oh yeah, meet the Guardians of the Galaxy. Say hi to Pep everyone.”

There’s a cheerful chorus to which Pepper returns a hesitant wave.

She points at Olive, currently sprawled horizontally over Peter’s stomach like she’s convinced he won’t be able to get up with her weight there, little feet wiggling happily on one side and hands busy with her plushy on the other.

“That’s a baby.”

“Yup.”

“She looks like you.”

Tony beams proudly. “That would be because she’s my daughter. Come here, Ollie, come say hi to Pep.”

Olive turns up her head at her nickname and considers him for a moment, then turns back to Peter and again. Peter gives her an encouraging smile and Olive hands him her plushy before crawling over to Tony who picks her up and immediately showers her with raspberries. She lets out a joyous giggle, little hands fighting him off unsuccessfully, then Tony takes mercy on her and all but drops her into Pepper’s startled arms.

“A baby,” Pepper says, blinking incredibly fast. She holds her almost like a bomb about to detonate, with Olive’s serious eyes studying her all the while, unsure what to do in this stranger’s arms. Pepper lips form into a smile at the sight and she visibly relaxes. “Frankly, I’ve kind of been expecting something like this for years now. Perhaps less green and about twenty years older.”

Tony protests with a loud and completely disingenuous, “Hey!”

To which Pepper merely waves a careless hand at before refocusing her attention on the still unsure baby in her lap. She runs a tender hand through Olive’s curls.

“But she’s absolutely adorable. Look at those eyes and those cute cheeks. Oh, I can’t wait to go shopping for her.”

Nebula, watching the whole conversation with sharp eyes, sends her a fierce glare and very menacingly starts sharpening her knives.

Tony cackles like a madman.

FRIDAY informs them of May’s arrival very soon after, and then it’s Peter’s turn to be mauled over by her fierce hugs and overprotective body checks to make sure that everything is in one piece. Tony gets a hug too, which takes him back a little bit but which he gratefully returns.

Pepper gives him a look once all the introductions are rehashed, as if saying ‘now can you explain?’. Tony is saved by the bell — not literally, of course, he doesn’t even think he built a bell into the Compound — but FRIDAY informs them that the food has arrived and chaos very quickly descends into the room.

Tony makes a show of telling all the Guardians they have to have at least one of each so they know what real comfort food is like. Even Groot has a try, though he makes a face when he bites the burger and settles for the vegetarian pizza instead. Drax proclaims everything to be delicious and Tony rewards him with a bright grin. Quill is too busy scarfing down on his food to even make any comments.

Peter sits next to May, almost subdued while she talks and cries and hugs him and worries. Tony stops for a beat, considering, then, without letting himself have second thoughts, heads into the kitchen.

“Please tell me we have some corn, Fri.”

“In the pantry, boss.”

“You’re the best.”

When he goes back into the living room, he silently offers Peter and May a whole box of pepperoni pizza with corn sprinkled on top.

Peter looks up, meets his gaze with something indecipherable, and holds it. Tony swallows, his heart beating a staccato rhythm non-conductive to its proper functioning. Then Peter smiles, a small thing, just barely pulling at the corner of his lips, and Tony feels something within him uncurl.

Tony returns to his sofa with his own burger, Pepper having now scooted closer to Rhodey which has Tony teasing them about making him choose favorites, and chatters happily in between mouthfuls of an amazingly greasy cheeseburger and moans of delight.

Rhodey gives him a fond look. “Did they not feed you wherever you were?”

Tony freezes. Actually, almost everyone freezes too because Rhodey has spoken up during a lull in conversation which means everyone heard his joke. But it isn’t a joke, not to them.

Tony swallows harshly, the food suddenly struggling to go down. But he can’t even make himself stop eating it. He literally can’t. Tony looks at his burger mournfully, resentfully almost, and takes bite after bite until he’s finished. He feels sick, but he couldn’t make himself stop if he wanted to.

“Tony?” Rhodey’s voice sounds concerned now, naturally. “You okay, man?”

Tony nods, shares a glum look with Peter who’s gone just as quiet while he methodically finishes his pizza. Gamora gives him a solemn look and an encouraging head tilt.

Tony twist his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Uh… Yeah. So. That’s kind of part of the story, I suppose. Might as well tell it at some point.”

Tony tries to smile but it’s a painful thing and he gives up just as quickly. Pepper and Rhodey are hovering with visible concern but Tony can’t really bear to look them in the eyes.

“Right. So, yeah. They did kind of starve us,” Tony starts.

He takes a deep breath, keeps his gaze steadily on the very interesting center table, and tells them everything. Well, he does skimp on some details, or tries to at least, but then both Pepper and Rhodey say his name in that tone that means ‘cut the bullshit, Tony’ and so he caves.

Tony’s glance chances upwards a few times, unbidden, but Peter very studiously avoids his eyes during Tony’s retelling.

When Tony reaches the part where they went six days without food because they failed to give in, May makes a pained sound followed immediately by a “ _Peter_ ,” so viscerally heartbreaking that Tony is forced to stop and suck in a sharp breath lest he break down.

Peter still refuses to look at anyone, but May takes his hand and tilts his chin towards her and they seem to have a whole conversation in a few horrifyingly quiet moments. Finally, Peter shakes his head, closes his eyes, and leans into her shoulder when she almost gingerly pulls him into her arms.

Tony has the feeling something important has been exchanged and he has no idea what it is.

He continues after a helpless pause, words stilted and sticky, and he mostly just glosses over the facts but it still feels like he’s being pealed back raw, completely open for everyone to see. It’s somehow much worse than being filmed 24/7 and Tony almost can’t breathe by the end of it.

He wants desperately to hold Peter’s hand, hug him and listen to his heartbeat and know that everything will be okay because they’re together. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed or welcome at all.

Tony ventures a glance up when he’s done. The whole room has gone eerily quiet except for Olive who babbles happily with Nebula and Mantis.

He finds May’s eyes first and tells himself that he’s ready for the hate now, will take every bit of vitriol she chooses to throw at him. It almost takes him aback when he doesn’t find any hint of it in her expression.

May is crying, big silent tears running down her cheeks, one hand grasping Peter’s like a lifeline while Peter keeps his face utterly blank, eyes unfocused. Tony expects loathing, but the look she gives him is full of gratitude, and Tony… he doesn’t know what to do with that.

He feels something inside him crack. A huge fault line opening up right in the middle of his being. He’s been waiting for the fall out since that first night they gave in, has been expecting it. Welcoming it, almost. He knows he deserves it but he hasn’t been able to doll out the punishment himself, so he’d been hoping that someone would.

But she won’t. For some reason, she won’t.

Tony feels raw and hurting and he doesn’t know what to do now.

The room is still frighteningly silent. The Guardians had already heard most of the story, in snippets and quickly glossed over moments, so they know. They already knew, and they _saw_. Tony knows that they saw because Drax had let slip that they’d had to hack into the tower’s video feed to come up with a plan. But it’s different saying it in so many words. Tony knows that they were kind before, understanding, but he’s still expecting some rebuke now that they know the whole story. But there’s none to find.

Tony looks at Rhodey and Pepper almost desperately, expectantly, waiting for their reprimands to follow. Instead, Pepper and Rhodey share matching looks of horror and disgust and outrage — on his behalf, bafflingly, not aimed at him at all — and Tony really can’t handle it anymore.

He’s grateful. He is. His friends are angry on his behalf, infuriated that they had to go through such a thing. But Tony doesn’t think he deserves the kindness without the reproach.

He should’ve done better. Don’t they know this? He should’ve saved Peter long before they ever had to be in that situation.

Tony clears his throat and desperately tries to change the subject. He really can’t deal with this right now. His body is screaming at him to get the fuck out of here but he can’t go because he hasn’t seen his friends in well over a year and they deserve better than having him run away.

Tony is supposedly even somewhat mature these days, he doesn’t do the running away part so often. Or at least not so blatantly.

So instead he says, “Yeah, so that’s enough about boring old us for probably the next decade,” and smiles a bright and utterly fake smile. “Tell us what we’ve miss out on.”

Peter has his eyes aimlessly set in front of him. May rubs a hand on Peter’s back and sends Tony a look that’s simply too understanding, so Tony turns back to his friends and watches as Rhodey gives Pepper a look which conveys a whole conversation in a single glance. He doesn’t know when his friends have become so good at that, and something niggles in the back of his mind that he should pay attention.

“Well,” Pepper starts slowly, expression dancing between the need to push and resignation. She seems to settle for the latter because she sags back a bit into the couch, almost pressed into Rhodey, and lets out a whoosh of breath. “There’s a lot. Uh, you two just sort of vanished all of a sudden, both FRIDAY and Karen lost contact at the same time and followed emergency protocol. It was too late, obviously.”

“We knew what happened, we just couldn’t do anything about it,” Rhodey says, pent up frustration shining through every word. His jaw is set and he rubs a soothing hand over Pepper’s arm which seems to be a comfort for her just as much as for him.

Tony looks at them, head tilted a fraction, and decides that there’s probably a lot that he needs to catch up on.

Pepper nods. “We tried asking Thor but he said there was nothing they could do without the Bifrost.” She huffs and Tony’s mind plays a very vivid vision of that conversation and he feels quite sorry for Thor. “Anyways, that was basically it. Everyone freaked out, but there wasn’t really anything we could do either. And you weren’t the only ones taken, which you probably know.”

May makes a sound, her lips a thin line of distress, and Peter absently reaches for her hand.

Tony nods. “Slave buddies, yeah. No idea where they ended up though, just me and Peter in Sakaar.”

He feels bad about that, but feels actually a lot worse that he hadn’t even thought about any of the others since they made it to Sakaar. They’d stuck together at first, in the big ship, but then once they got to Sakaar it was just Tony and Peter. Them against the world.

He hopes they’re alright though. Hopes wherever they ended up wasn’t so horrible.

Rhodey winces at the word slave which Tony completely gets, but there’s no point in mincing words anymore. It’s exactly what they were.

Pepper clears her throat awkwardly, a gesture that surprises Tony. She’s usually so sure of herself, this must really be getting to her more than he’d thought. “Uh, yes. So anyways, there really wasn’t much to do after that except pray.”

“There’s a shrine,” Rhodey comments dryly, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Tony tries to see if he’s being mocked and finds no tells. “A shrine,” he deadpans.

Rhodey nods and Pepper and May do too at Tony’s still dubious look.

“Yeah. There’s a shrine on the spot you were abducted from, dedicated to Spider-Man and Iron Man. And the others too,” May says. Her voice is slightly choked up but Tony can hear a hint of humor there.

Tony stares at them for a full thirty seconds then goes, “You hear that, Pete? A shrine,” and completely forgets that they haven’t actually spoken directly since they landed and that he doesn’t really know where they stand at the moment.

Peter, though, just says, tone completely blasé, “I kinda always wanted a shrine. It’s probably like the ultimate measure of making it as a superhero.”

And Tony snorts out a laugh. “That and naked photos on your fan mail.”

“Your age is showing, Tony,” Peter teases, his tone so much like usual that Tony feels a whole new set of pangs in his heart at it. “Everyone gets unsolicited dick picks these days.”

Tony looks at him for a while, long enough that Peter feels awkward and a blush starts to creep up his cheeks, though he resolutely keeps eye contact with Tony. Challenging, almost.

Tony smiles then, a slow and cautious thing, but real, perhaps the first real smile he’s sent him since they landed. Peter returns it almost hesitantly, but then it morphs into something genuine and beautiful and absolutely blinding. And when Tony, following a whim, gestures with his head for Peter to come join him on the sofa, Peter pauses for a few beats. But he does, he gives May a soft look, gets up, and walks across the living room, jumping over a crawling Olive and eliciting an excited giggle from her.

Peter sits down right next to Tony, arm to arm, and Tony feels like he can finally breathe.

They don’t hold hands, though, the whole thing feeling incredibly fragile still, but they never let up on the skin contact through the rest of the conversation, both of them being caught up on all the new developments they’d missed.

And if everyone else sends them knowing looks, well, they do their best to ignore them.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the Avengers show up late at night, after everyone has had yet another round of take-out and they’re all pleasantly full and settled in the lounge watching a movie.

Olive is asleep on Tony’s chest and it takes him a minute to untangle himself and pass her on to Gamora’s arms so that he can join Peter in the getting mauled over by eager superheroes business.

There’s a wholly surreal experience of introducing the Avengers to the Guardians which results in way more chaos than expected when they catch sight of Vision. It’s a whole thing, and Tony simply doesn’t have the energy to deal with it tonight at all, so he ends up yelling at everyone to shut the hell up and leave it for tomorrow or, even better, any time when he’s not fucking there.

There’s a small possibility that coming back and dealing with everything has resulted in his nerves being slightly frayed.

It results in mumbled apologies and assessing looks and just generally way too many emotions for his liking. After that, there’s another round of questions and answers about their time in space to which Tony calls not it on answering and instead — _finally_ — excuses himself to his room with his baby.

“Yeah, sorry A-team, I’m sure you missed my pretty face but daddy duty calls,” he says, already walking off with a casual wave at them and not even bothering to explain said baby.

“Did he say _daddy_?” Clint pipes up.

“She was green, right? Everyone saw she was green?” Sam this time.

Tony is already out of the room and can still feel the eyes on him. One set, in particular, burns more than the rest but he doesn’t know how to respond to that. Tony wants to, of course he does, but even though he and Pete spent the rest of the afternoon sitting as close together as physically possible, they still haven’t talked. Tony has no idea where they stand.

So Tony goes back to his room alone and hopes that maybe he won’t stay that way.

He practically crawls onto his bed and deposits Olive carefully next to him without waking her up. She’s been sleeping with him and Peter every night in a small, teenager's bed, the three of them practically on top of each other. His king-sized bed probably feels like heaven right now.

She stretches as soon as she’s laying on the mattress, chubby little arms and legs jerking a bit before settling down. Her lips pout with a soft breath and Tony spends a minute just taking her in.

She’s safe. He’s home, Peter’s home, and his little girl is too. At one point this all felt like it would never be more than a fantasy, a story he created in his mind to not let himself and Peter fall into the despair of their windowless life. But they made it. They truly made it.

It’s perhaps in this moment, watching his baby sleep comfortably in his bed and knowing that Peter is just as safe a few rooms away, that Tony actually believes that they escaped. That the nightmare is finally over.

He falls onto the bed bonelessly, his thigh protesting a bit in the process. He runs a gentle finger over Olive’s furrowed brow, then her soft curls. A lot like his own, he thinks with amusement, although the tips tend to get red as the hair grows which is quite the look. Her eyes are becoming more and more copies of his. The cheeks are Gamora’s through and through, down to the small silver streaks over the cheekbone. Tony can only imagine the vision she’ll make when she’s older. He’ll have a hard time curbing his protectives instincts, that’s for sure. 

Tony smiles softly at the sight of his daughter in his bed. There’s one person missing for the picture to be complete, though, but Tony tries very hard not to let that curdle his satisfaction.

Maybe Peter will come. If he wants to. If Tony’s lucky. _If he’s deserving_ , a traitorous voice whispers in his ear.

Tony falls back onto his pillow with a sigh, the soft mattress feeling like absolute heaven to his tired body. His leg aches, but he left the medicine in the ship and there’s no way he’s going back to fetch it today. He’ll just have to deal with it. Gamora might kill him tomorrow, but that’ll be a problem for future Tony.

Tony lets himself relax while he absently massages his thigh, loosening out the knots with a few winces of pain.

“Hey, Fri?”

“Yes, boss,” she immediately replies, voice quieter than usual in deference to the sleeping baby. It makes Tony smile.

“How come no one took over my room?”

There’s a pause before, “I locked both yours and Peter’s rooms until such a time as you’d both been declared dead or returned. I’m glad it was the latter, boss.”

“Me too, Fri. Me too.” He taps idle fingers on his chest, taking in everything around him.

This bedroom is definitely bigger than the 117,38 square feet he’d spent so long in, but it also feels… foreign. Not really his. It’s weird because, back in Sakaar, all he could dream about was being home, but now that he’s here… Things are different. They’re awkward. He doesn’t really know where he fits anymore.

The room feels almost like a shrine — though he supposes of a very different kind to the one in Brooklyn. Everything is exactly as he left it, and Tony is sure that FRIDAY made the cleaning staff keep everything where it belonged, possibly under threat. The thought makes his lips quirk up.

He doesn’t know where she learned to be so viciously protective, but it probably has something to do with what happened in Siberia. Him disappearing on her certainly didn’t help. She’s still not a fan of Steve at all and is not shy to show it.

Tony’s smile dwindles. It’s true that they’ve mostly patched things over and the old Avengers are back, with new ones added to the mix and everything, but it’s never been the same. Not really.

He and Nat got over it with a bottle of vodka and a screaming match in which they both said things they didn’t mean, and things they did but didn’t have to be said. But Tony forgave her easily because she’d been right. She’d supported the Accords and then she’d supported her friends and stopped them from trying to kill each other. Tony had been too blind with anger to make that switch at the time, but they’re good now.

Steve, on the other hand… They’re alright, they talk and share team leader duties and everything, but Tony doesn’t think it’ll ever be like before, doesn’t think he’ll ever trust him. And he really doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those sermons about right and wrong when someone tells him what happened in Sakaar. Nope. Absolutely not.

Tony wonders how that particular conversation is going and cringes.

“Did everyone learn about my porn star status, Fri?”

“Yes, boss. They are currently being told off by Mrs. Parker,” she says, displeasure dripping from her tone. “There were some… less than appropriate responses.

Tony makes a face, then is simultaneously glad to have escaped and bummed out for having missed May’s dressing down. It was probably Steve, maybe Clint. A part of Tony would really like to see that.

“And Peter?”

There’s a significant pause before, “He has retired to his bedroom.”

“Oh.”

Tony rubs at his chest unconsciously. Something hurts, but it’s not physical pain, he doesn’t think. He’d just thought… Well, he doesn’t know what he thought because his brain is a right mess.

So maybe he was hoping for something different. Foolish of him, obviously.

“Is May staying over?”

“Peter told her to stay in his room.”

He nods in acknowledgment. Good, he thinks. At least Peter won’t be alone tonight.

Tony piles up a bunch of pillows around Olive and asks FRIDAY to keep an eye on her while he wobbles his way into the shower. He shaves too, finally, then spends a good few minutes in front of the mirror struggling to recognize himself.

He has a small panic then. Just a small one, really, not that big of a deal. But he does end up sitting on the ceramic floor fighting for air while FRIDAY’s soothing voice repeats her mantra of “You’re at the Compound, it’s 10:42 pm, Thursday the 7th of July, 2023. You’re alright, you’re safe, everyone is safe. You’re at the Compound, it’s…”

But Tony wants to tell her to stop, that it’s actually not helping at all — how is it 2023 already? How did they miss so much time? — except he can’t form the words.

Tony breathes harshly through his mouth, sharp, shallow breaths that hurt as they go in. At some point he feels arms around him and doesn’t really have the capacity to process who it is until later, when he’s finally got his ears to stop buzzing.

“There you go,” Pepper says, voice soothing and remarkably calm. “You’re safe, everyone is safe, you’re home.”

Tony nods numbly, his throat sore. He realizes that Pepper is sitting with him on the floor, leaning against the shower glass while Tony has his arms around his knees. She’s still in her business suit and Tony’s just in a towel, and he absently thinks that the picture they paint might be comical if his brain weren’t so frazzled.

Pepper keeps rubbing gentle circles over Tony’s back until he’s finally able to give her a small, sheepish smile.

“First day back and already giving you trouble, huh?”

Pepper returns his smile with an impossibly understanding one. “If I never have to go through missing you like that again, I really don’t mind you giving me this kind of trouble every day. Not that it’s any trouble at all,” she pointedly says, and Tony shrugs helplessly.

“I’m kind of a mess.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Tony snorts weakly. “Gosh, I missed you.” He tips his head to the side, resting his cheek over his bent knees, and gives Pepper a lopsided quirk of his lips. “Did you know the little voice in my head sounds like you? I call it my Pepper-conscience.”

“And does your Pepper-conscience manage to put some sense into you?” she asks, teasing.

Tony snorts. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance.” Pepper raises a brow. “Alright, thirty-seventy. The Tony part tends to be very loud.”

Pepper chuckles knowingly and then runs gentle fingers through Tony’s hair. It’s a familiar gesture that leaves him feeling somehow bereft.

“I hope in this case both of our voices were telling you you did the right thing, Tony,” she says oh so softly.

And the thing is, Tony wants so desperately to believe her, but he doesn’t think he can.

“I should’ve been better, Pep. Got us out sooner. Saved— saved Peter.” And he sounds so completely raw that he would feel embarrassed were it anyone other than Pepper sitting on a bathroom floor next to him.

“You did your best,” Pepper says, fingers still playing with his now-short hair. “You did your absolute best, Tony, and don’t you tell yourself otherwise.”

Tony looks at her with tears welling in his eyes. “Swear?”

Pepper nods seriously. “Absolutely. You did save him. And you saved yourself. Okay? That was an incredibly brave thing to do, Tony, it really was. And yeah, it was an absolutely shitty situation that no one deserves, but you did your fucking best and you brought both of you home and _safe_.”

Tony is quiet for a moment, then chuckles wetly. “Wow. You know it’s real when Pepper Potts curses.”

“Exactly.” Pepper dips her head assertively and then gives him a teasing smile. It turns soft when she catches the look on his face and then her fingers come to caress a soft path down his cheek. “You’re a good man, Tony. Please believe me.”

Tony lets the tears fall, then. Silent, painful shards down his cheeks — and how exactly does he still have tears to shed? He’s pretty sure he should’ve run out at some point in the afternoon. He does feel better, though, like he’s purging some of the pain he’d been holding inside for all this time, too conscious of keeping up a happy front for Peter and then Gamora to let it out completely.

Pepper, his beautiful, amazing friend, just sits with him for a long while until Tony’s tears eventually abate and he feels something more resembling to a person.

“Thank you,” Tony says hoarsely.

Pepper kisses his head in response. “You’re always welcome.”

“Even if I get snot on your Chanel suits?”

She nods seriously. “Even then. You can just buy me a new one,” she adds, teasing glint in her eyes.

Tony chuckles weakly. “If my abduction didn’t leave me penniless, I’ll buy you ten.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m already working on activating all your accounts and dealing with all the other paperwork that comes with being brought back from the legally missing.”

“Ugh, please don’t make me sign anything, Pep. I haven’t touched a pen in like a year and a half, it’s been the happiest time of my life.”

Pepper’s lips quirk involuntarily. “I’m sure,” she says, tone dry. Then her face softens and she asks, “Better now?”

“Yeah.”

Tony gets up, muscles and joints protesting loudly. He walks over to the sink to rinse his face with some cold water, his limp even more pronounced.

“The goatee definitely suits you better,” Pepper pipes up, still sitting casually on the floor while she watches Tony apply some aftershave with only minimal interactions with the mirror. Tony notices her gaze drop to his leg where the towel only covers about half of the missing muscle but she thankfully doesn’t comment on it.

“It’s weird,” he says.

He turns his back on the mirror and leans against the vanity, facing her. Pepper tilts her head and waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts. Tony sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his now smooth cheeks.

“It’s just… this is me, you know?” He makes a wide, sweeping gesture over himself, then lets his arms fall limply by his side. “Thinner and with a hole in my leg, but… me. Like I was before. But here,” he taps his head, then his chest, “and here… I’m not. I’m really not.”

Pepper nods, face soft with understanding, then gets up to stand before him. Tony only processes now that he’s just got a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and he and Pepper are no longer dating, but just as quickly shrugs the thought off. Pepper has seen him naked countless times. Hell, complete strangers have seen him worse than naked countless times.

“Of course you’re not, Tony. You went through a lot, no one expects you to be the same.” She touches his arm and he leans into the touch. “It’s okay to take your time, honey. It’s okay to struggle and to go through ups and downs. And if you want to get bangs and dye your hair purple, that’s fine too,” she says, eyes glinting.

Tony huffs out a laugh. “I would so rock that look.”

“You would. But my point is,” she continues, equal parts gentle and firm, “If you want to look like you used to, go ahead. And if you want to change, that’s okay too. The outside, that’s just a shell, in here is what counts.” She places her hand over Tony’s heart, right where his scar is. “And we all know Tony Stark has a heart. I have proof and everything.”

Tony chuckles wetly and holds her hand over his heart for a few beats. “You’re definitely my favorite. Don’t tell Rhodey that.”

Pepper laughs at his joke and then kisses him on the cheek. “You’ll be alright?”

Tony nods. “Yeah. Sure. Got a kid to go check up on, thankfully she sleeps like a rock.” His smile tastes sweet and he knows he’s probably got a foolish dad look on his face, but his daughter is just the best.

“She’s a really cute kid, Tony. I’m proud of you.”

Tony drops his eyes almost bashfully. “Yeah. She’s pretty awesome.” He looks back up and shoos Pepper out of the bathroom. “I’ll be fine, promise. You’re staying over, right? It’s too late to drive back.”

Pepper’s face does a funny thing then, but she quickly smoothes it over and Tony is too tired to press. “Yeah, I’ll stay over.”

“Okay then, off you go, I’m about to get naked and you’ve lost your privileges to join this party,” he says with a parting grin.

Pepper merely chuckles quietly on her way out before closing the door softly behind herself.

Olive hasn’t moved an inch, and Tony quickly changes into some random PJs he forgot he owned before joining her in bed. He almost immediately feels constricted with all the clothing after having spent all of his nights naked and decides it’s alright to sleep with just boxers. A compromise between his two selves.

The falling asleep part takes a significant amount of time, though. Everything feels wrong. He puts a hand next to Olive’s torso to feel her breathing but it’s still not enough. Too few heartbeats, too few breathing patterns. There’s a missing body right next to his, there are phantom arms that should fit right over his chest. Tony stays awake for a long, long time, and when he does fall asleep it’s to fitful, nightmare-filled dreams.

* * *

Tony wakes up at the ungodly hour of 3:56 a.m. and it’s not even because of a crying baby. Olive is still peacefully asleep, lips pouty and parted, and Tony looks at her for a long time, envying her peacefulness. She started sleeping through the night about a week ago, which Tony thinks is probably considered a miracle for human parents, but right now he would be grateful for something to do.

Going back to sleep is an exercise in futility, so Tony spends the first few hours of the day softly talking to FRIDAY and getting lost in the world of parenting blogs and online shopping. Who knew babies needed so much stuff? Definitely not him, and he feels like a shitty father for not having been able to give Olive all of those things for the first three months of her life.

By the time Olive starts to stir, Tony has ordered her a whole new bedroom set, clothes, diapers, baby formula, and food — probably in excessive quantities but he’s got to make up for lost time. Hell, he doesn’t even know if her physiology is compatible with human baby formula. So far she’s been nursing, but Gamora will eventually leave. Neither does he know when she’s supposed to switch to solids — all the blogs said around six months, but Olive is only three and she’s already crawling and sitting and looks much older than the three-month-old babies he saw pictures of.

She’s not actually that much bigger, but there’s a certain quality to her that screams more developed. She’s got slightly chubby legs and arms, but there’s strength and agility in them that Tony thinks would probably be more expected of an older baby. Not that he still knows much about babies, even in spite of his early morning internet wanderings.

He really hopes Gamora was right and her development slows down eventually because he is not ready for all those big milestones to come and go in a flash.

Olive blinks her big round eyes open, immediately zeroing in on him, and Tony decides that all of it will be a problem for later.

Giving her a bath is an experience that Tony will rather soon forget and almost ends up with him in tears as well as her. In the ship, they’d settled for simply washing her in a little basin, which Tony thinks might explain her sudden terror at being sat down in a bathtub deep enough to fit three people comfortably. In the end, Tony hops in with her and tries his best to not let everything descend into chaos. It has mediocre results.

He dresses her up in one of his T-shirts because all of her things are still in the ship, including her slave dress that is now too small and Tony intends to watch burn. Tony’s own dress in a heap on the floor and soon to join hers in the fire.

Why neither Tony nor Peter thought about getting new clothes for themselves while on the Benatar, he truly cannot say. In all honestly, Tony had not even thought about it. He supposes it had still felt like everything wasn’t over just yet and that he wouldn’t feel right with anything to replace it with but his own clothes.

Tony puts on light-grey suit pants, a crisp white shirt, and a vest — because he _can_. He’s got nowhere to go but his own home, but something in him wants to dress nicely, to put on clothes that make him feel good and elegant and — like an armor, almost. That’s what his suits have always been. His dress suits, not his Iron Man suits, although those too, obviously.

They probably make a comical picture; Tony in his fancy clothes and Olive in T-shirt that Tony took some scissors to to make it fit her. But he feels like he might just be ready to face the day.

By the time Tony’s had his breakfast and Gamora has come into the kitchen to breastfeed a fussy Olive, Tony is about ready to pull his hair out of his skull.

The day doesn’t get much better after that.

The Avengers — almost all of them: Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Scott — corner him on his way out of the kitchen to fetch Olive’s not-a-dinosaur plushy, all of them apparently having decided it was a reasonable idea to ambush a man who’s spent eighteen months trapped in a room.

The results are definitely less than stellar.

Tony had seriously not thought about his suits since he got back. FRIDAY had obviously kept everything up and running and, as soon as Tony unconsciously signals his distress, in come three Iron Man suits, busting through the glass windows in the lounge, gauntlets activated and ready to aim at the Avengers.

Everyone sort of freezes then.

Tony, breathing coming out in harsh, shallow pants, tries very hard to control his body enough so that the suits don’t attack before he’s had time to make his mouth speak the command to stand down.

When he does manage to speak, his first words are a rasped out, panicked, “Olive?”

He feels hands on him, slightly calloused, small, familiar — Gamora, his brain decides, but doesn’t relax or take his eyes away from his shocked team.

“She’s here. She’s fine.”

“Away,” Tony rasps out. “Please. Take her away.”

He feels Gamora squeeze him once before her soft footsteps indicate her walking swiftly away. Only then does he relax a fraction.

Distantly, almost as if coming through the vastness of space, Tony hears someone call his name. He doesn’t really process it though.

His heart is still pounding in his chest, threatening to break free and make a wild run for it, his breaths are still harsh and shallow and sore, cutting through his trachea on the way in and getting trapped in his lungs. There’s adrenaline running through his body, driving his mind wild with panic. Fight, flight, freeze.

Apparently he’s settled on freeze.

These are his teammates, his friends. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but Tony’s body is screaming at him — _fight, don’t let them ambush you, don’t let them hold you_. The result is him frozen to the spot, eyes darting from one face to the other, rapidly but practically unseeing.

There’s another sound then, quick footsteps, a sharp intake of breath, and then a single, heartfelt, “ _Fuck_.”

Peter, Tony thinks, and that settles his impasse and tips the scale towards _fight_. It’s Peter, he’s got to protect Peter.

With an automatic gesture, all the suits move forward and aim. Tony has to fight, he’s got to protect them, he can’t let them be captured again, can’t let the aliens abduct them. He’ll fight harder this time, mercilessly. He’ll succeed.

They’re not taking Peter, they’re _not_. Over his dead body.

Tony is about to take a step forward and punch one of the aliens when there are arms around him — muscular, warm, just a tad sticky. Peter. He has to protect him.

Tony tries to push him behind himself but Peter is a firm, solid weight. Unmovable.

“Please,” Tony says, eyes unfocused. “Please. I’ll protect you, please, Peter.”

“It’s okay, Tony. We’re all okay. FRIDAY stand down.” Tony wants to tell him no, they have to fight the aliens, they can’t let themselves be taken, but Peter almost yells, “ _Now_ , for fuck’s sake, he’s not himself,” and Tony can hear the distress in his voice.

“No, Pete, no. We can fight them, we can. We have to, we can’t let them take us again.”

There are hands running up and down his arms, soothing but just firm enough that the touch is reassuring rather than grating. Peter makes a shushing sound and then starts humming a soft melody. Familiar.

Tony turns his head to the sound, feels his body get still, and then, slowly, subdued. He lets his eyes fall closed, sees flashes in his mind of their room, their bed, Peter singing the same melody under his breath. It always made Tony chuckle because Peter was so bad at it, so comically tone-deaf. But it never failed to make Tony calm, to bring him to the present when his mind went drifting to unpleasant places.

Tony breathes out with a whoosh, reality crashing into him with the painful force of a Hulk-sized fist.

Teammates. Not aliens. He’s _home_.

Jesus Christ, he almost attacked his own teammates. Thank god he had the wherewithal to make sure Olive wasn’t here or he might never forgive himself.

Tony breathes out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling. Peter keeps his hold on Tony’s arms, which is a very good thing or Tony might have dropped on the floor with the release of all that adrenaline.

When Tony opens his eyes, Peter’s meet his with near painful concern.

“You with me?”

Tony nods, unable to use his voice right now.

Peter lets out a relieved sigh, his body visibly uncoiling. Then his expression turns furious, almost deadly so. He releases Tony and turns around, and Tony wants to call him back, wants to ask him for more, for his arms around him, or even just his pinky finger. But he still can’t find his words and Peter stays with his back to Tony.

“Now, would someone like to explain whose fucking brilliant plan it was to ambush a man who’s just come back from being _abducted for a fucking year and a half_?”

Tony startles a bit at the ferocity of his tone. Peter’s shoulders are tense, his hands in a fist, and his whole body is vibrating with anger so strong that Tony’s first instinct is to calm him down. This time, he doesn’t fight it.

Tony places a shaky hand on Peter’s back, then his body follows almost without his permission and he ends up resting his forehead on Peter’s neck, the hairs tickling him slightly.

Peter exhales slowly, painfully controlled, but his muscles stop vibrating and he finally looks like he’s not ready to fight anymore.

Tony stays right where he is, gathering his erratic wits.

Natasha’s the first to speak.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Tony, we didn’t think… Are you alright?”

Tony can see her head from his periphery and he offers her a jerky nod.

“Fuck, that was not the brightest idea,” she says. She sounds appropriately concerned too, which Tony is grateful for. At least it wasn’t done on purpose or maliciously. It still sucked, though.

“Yeah, Tony, we’re really sorry,” Steve adds. Tony can’t see him, he’s right in front of Peter, but he can picture the contrite look just fine.

Tony makes a sound in response and then the rest of them offer him their subdued apologies before quickly heading off to parts unknown.

Natasha stays for a beat longer, steps closer to look at him properly, brows furrowed with worry. Peter tenses almost imperceptibly and turns his body slightly to block her. Natasha stops where she is, hands half-raised and palms out.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want me to call Tamara?”

His therapist. Tony should probably give her a call at some point. Preferably sooner if this is the state he’s in after less than twenty-four hours back home.

And how exactly was he managing so well on the ship only to break down as soon as he was safe?

Tony sighs, pulls back from Peter, missing the contact almost immediately, and tries for something resembling a smile.

“I’ll give her a call later. Thanks, Nat,” he says, meaning it. He meets her eyes for a minute, letting her have a good look at him and come up with her own assessments.

Finally, she nods, her lips lifting at the corners gently. “Alright. I’m glad you’re back, Tony.”

Only when she’s gone does Peter finally relax. Tony hadn’t even noticed that he was still on edge, but the distinction is almost jarring now.

Peter turns just enough that he’s looking at Tony but his body is poised away from him.

Tony wants to scream.

Peter says, “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

Tony considers for a moment telling him the truth. That no, he’s not okay and will probably not be okay while he and Peter are having this weird not knowing where they stand thing.

Instead, he nods again. “All good now. Thank you.”

Peter jerks his chin down in something too violent to be called a nod and then walks off, presumably back to his room.

Tony is very proud of himself for making it back to his own room in one — mostly put together — piece, and only crumbling when no one but FRIDAY can see him. 

* * *

Tony thinks he does alright for the rest of the day. Mostly because the bar has been set so very low, but he’s choosing to focus on the positives.

Pepper coaxes him out of his room with a mix of gentle handling and stern words. Rhodey offers him an understanding look and a friendly pat on the back. Bruce shows up, all shy and worried and apologetic.

“I told them it was a bad idea, Tony. I’m so sorry, I should have made more of an effort—”

Tony has to stop him there, mostly via a desperately necessary hug. He really missed his science bro. Bruce hugs him back, more tightly than anticipated, and when he releases Tony his face is adorned with a look too full of understanding.

“I was there too,” Bruce says. Tony squints a bit and he clarifies with a simple and completely world-shattering, “In Sakaar. I was there too.”

“Oh.”

And yeah, now it kind of all clicks. Tony is a horrible friend. He’d known Bruce had been away in space for two years, hidden away within Hulk’s mind until Thor managed to help him out and bring him home. He’d known this, but Bruce hadn’t wanted to talk about it and Tony hadn’t tried to make him. He hadn’t even bothered to ask where he’d been or what had happened.

Bruce’s smile is a small and painful thing, taking in Tony’s expression with his usual perceptiveness. “Yeah. I— uh, the Hulk, I mean. He was their best fighter.”

Tony blinks blankly for a heartbeat, images flashing before his eyes, echoes of cheers and jeers he’d heard just before they managed to escape.

“Oh,” he repeats, more than a little dazed. “Yeah, that makes sense. The big guy would crush it in any fighting pit, top profits right there.”

Tony cringes, wonders if it’s possible to die of self-recrimination. Bruce winces, but everything about him screams understanding rather than hurt. Tony decides that Bruce is definitely his favorite science bro.

“Yeah… So, uh, if you wanna talk?” Bruce tries, one hand going to his hair in that endearingly uncomfortable look he has, but it’s laced with unmistakable honesty and Tony can’t help but be grateful. “I’ll be here. Anytime, Tony.”

Tony chokes up on an unexpected surge of emotion which he resolutely blames on the PTSD aftershocks and decides to go for a teasing look to save his damaged unflappable image.

“Not gonna fall asleep on me again?”

Bruce looks contrite before he forces out a chuckle and shakes his head ruefully. “No, definitely not. I mean it, Tony. I’m here any time,” he adds, eyes almost forceful in their bid for acceptance.

Tony nods numbly. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Brucie bear.”

Then he’s off to anywhere that’s not here with loaded emotional conversations he is so not capable of handling even at his best. And this is so far from his best it’s almost ludicrous.

Gamora catches him limping harder than usual when FRIDAY directs him to find her and Olive in the gym, of all places. She sends him a look, one lone eyebrow managing to convey every single thing her lips fail to utter.

Tony flashes her a bright smile and shamelessly uses their daughter as a distraction.

It’s so efficient a distraction, in fact, that Tony only properly notices Gamora’s left when she returns with Olive’s things and Tony’s medicine. She doesn’t even deign handing it to him, simply pulls mercilessly at his pants until they’re in an undignified pile by his feet, and then begins to methodically apply the ointment to his thigh.

Tony starts to protest the manhandling, but then her nimble fingers massage the muscles with just the right amount of pressure and his words turn into a moan which is equal parts pleasure and pain.

“Holy Tesla, please leave the Guardians and move in with me, G. Those fingers are one of a kind. Oh my— Yup, yeah, right there. Fuck.”

“Language,” someone says. Tony whips his head around to find Steve standing by the door with a distinctly uncomfortable expression.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve given up and just accepted that my daughter’s first words will be some kind of profanity.”

Steve’s lips twitch at the corners. “Maybe there’s still time to change that.”

“Eh. Gamora doesn’t really mind, do you lime pie?”

Gamora doesn’t bother raising her eyes from her task. “I honestly couldn’t care less.”

“There you go, Steve. Mommy dearest is just as bad.”

Steve huffs out his playful frustration and then narrows his eyes in consideration. Tony chooses to ignore him in favor of enjoying Gamora’s expert fingers, now gently heading towards the center of the hole where it’s always the most tender. If Steve wants something he’ll just have to come out and say it.

“All done,” Gamora says after a quiet moment. Her eyes narrow and her lips purse. “I better not find you limping like that again. I distinctly remember telling you to use it every day.”

Tony flashes her his biggest shit-eating grin. “Maybe I was missing you, mint leaf, I just wanted your nice capable hands all over me again.”

Gamora, in a true testament of how well they know each other by now, simply rolls her eyes in response. She leaves with a kiss to Olive’s head and a small wave, hips swaying as she walks away. Tony looks after her and thinks about ways to make her stay so she can distract him from whatever Steve wants. By the time he comes up with a mostly useless excuse, she’s already gone.

Tony looks up with as much dignity as he can muster for someone sitting on the floor with their pants still down to their feet and a baby crawling all over him.

“She totally loves me.”

He grabs Olive by her T-shirt — or his, actually — when his bad thigh crosses her single-minded path towards insatiable curiosity. Olive puffs out a breath and looks at him with indignant, betrayed eyes. Tony pulls a face and then redirects her to the toys her mother brought in.

Steve takes a single step into the gym as if daring to enter some filthy brothel. Well, it might very well be what Steve thinks of the situation, in all fairness.

“You two, uh, that is… You’re together, then?”

Tony waves both hands over his leg to dry the ointment faster. He may have grown accustomed to being naked and having sex in front of invisible thousands, but there’s something seriously undignified about talking to another man with your pants dropped — unless the conversation is about sex, of course, then Tony’s all for it.

“Gamora and I? Nah.”

Steve looks from Tony to Olive to the empty corridor behind him and then back. “But she’s… The baby’s green,” he settles for, somehow finding that the easiest thing to point out.

Tony snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, duh. Her mom’s green, as you just saw.”

“But you said you weren’t together,” Steve counters, his brows furrowed in adorable confusion.

“Well, Cap, see, when two people of the opposite sex have intercourse, sometimes it results in a little half-human, half-Zehoberei little girl.”

Steve flushes violently and mumbles under his breath. Louder he says, “I know that. I just— You said you’re not together, but then there’s the baby.”

“Sure,” Tony says slowly, feeling as if he’s explaining something to a toddler. “There’s also a thing called no strings attached.” He pauses, tilts his head in consideration. “Didn’t they explain it to you what happened in Sakaar?”

The flush becomes even more pronounced, which Tony hadn’t thought was possible. “Yeah, uh… Yeah.”

“So?”

Steve huffs out a breath that sounds equal parts frustration and embarrassment. “I just… I thought you’d make it serious because of the baby.”

Tony blinks at him for a moment, baffled before he remembers who he’s talking to. “Ah. You thought I’d go all ‘marry her to make an honest woman out of her’ or some other crap like that.”

Steve pulls a face, brows drawing near, lips pursing. “It’s not— Yeah. Yes, I guess I did.”

“Well, hate to break it to you, but no can do. And no _want_ to do. Gamora is very much dating Quill and I’m— not.”

Tony averts his eyes. He’d almost slipped and said something completely stupid. And, at this point, something sounding more and more like a pipe dream.

Peter has remained conspicuously absent since this morning’s epic fiasco. FRIDAY has informed him that he and May have been tucked away in Peter’s room. Which is fine. Perfectly fine. It’s not like Tony can’t handle being away from Peter for a few hours, or that he’s been stuck in a loop of ‘are they, are they not’ since yesterday.

It’s fine. Tony is very much fine.

He’s a grown-up, even. With a daughter and everything. Ha. Totally fine.

Steve makes a sound that sounds obnoxiously disapproving and which Tony blatantly ignores.

“I’d have thought you’d have finally gotten the hang of twenty-first-century relationships by now, Cap. Is everything still making your brain go fritz? Do you need another PowerPoint presentation?”

Steve flashes him yet another look dripping with disapproval before his expression morphs into one of regret.

“Listen, I… I’m really sorry, Tony. About this morning. I didn’t think, neither of us did really—”

“Brucie did.”

Steve flushes. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess he did. We were just… really desperate to make sure you were okay.” He says it like a shameful confession but it makes something in Tony warm up and start thawing his anger.

Tony flashes him a roguish grin. “I am pretty missable. No wonder all of you couldn’t wait to get some of this.”

He’s still got his pants around his ankles, which combined with his grin turned smirk makes for a picture perfect for embarrassing Steve even further. Tony is rewarded with a blush so bright it’s possible Steve might be wanting to have a try at his own Iron Man impression.

Tony’s grin widens but he takes pity on him and pulls up his pants with only minimal struggle. The ointment is still not fully dry but it’ll have to do.

Olive has crawled away towards one of the machines in the gym while Tony was distracted, so he runs after her and scoops her up with a laugh.

“You’re way too curious for my peace of mind, Ollie poo. Way to give your old man a heart-attack before lunch.”

Olive giggles as if she understands everything he’s saying. Tony nibbles on her little feet, soles a darker green just like her mom’s which always has Tony smiling.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let it go for now because you’re too cute for your own good,” he tells her with fake seriousness. “But don’t think we’re done with this argument, little miss.”

He’s startled back into the present by Steve’s voice.

“You’re really good with her.” And alright, Tony knows better than anyone what kind of reputation he has, but come on, does _everyone_ really have to sound so surprised when they say that?

Tony chooses to act like it’s nothing. “That’s ‘cause she’s just as awesome as her dad. And just as pretty.” He smiles brightly when Olive smacks her hand into his now non-existent beard. “Oh no, baby, no more pulling on daddy’s braids with those strong little hands. Only fashionable goatees from now on.”

She doesn’t seem nearly impressed enough.

Tony nods mournfully. “I know, it was a heck of a fashion statement, but Earth hasn’t caught up with it yet, you know? Daddy’s got to look dazzling for all the pretty ladies and gentlemen.”

“Oh,” Steve says, sounding relieved. Tony looks at him in curiosity which is short-lived as Steve immediately follows with, “I was worried for a bit you’d try to keep things going with Peter. I’m glad you’re looking to move on, Tony.”

Tony feels as if he’s been thrown out into the nothingness of space and left to freeze to death in those unending few seconds it would take until he’s put out of his misery.

And the thing is, Steve looks so earnest, so absolutely convinced that this is the better choice for both Tony and Peter, that Tony can’t actually manage to spur any resentment for him.

So he flashes him his best press smile. It feels too tight on his face, pulling at all the wrong muscles, and he realizes that it’s been quite a while since he’s been forced to use it. He’s not rusty, per se, doesn’t think it’ll ever be a mask he’ll forget how to put on, but it does feel more foreign than he remembers.

“Yeah, sure thing. Listen, I gotta go, little ones need to eat at ridiculous hours and I don’t have the necessary equipment to feed this one. Catch you later, yeah?”

He leaves with a tap to Steve’s shoulder and grabs Olive’s bag with his free hand without bothering to put back the toys she’d been playing with or his bottle of medicine. He can always come back later but right now he really does need to get the hell out of this conversation.

And would you look at that. Maybe not that mature after all.

* * *

That night they have a bonfire. Tony is determined to have at least one win in this never-ending, miserable day, and so he rounds up everyone outside for a celebratory ‘burning of the tunics’ party. Or dresses, in his case.

It’s a blissfully warm summer night, Tony sits on one of the logs Natasha had the big strong superheroes bring over for their campfire. Olive is asleep in Peter’s arms a few logs over, and Tony can pretend, for a moment, that everything is alright. That they’re not navigating some strange silent argument in their quasi-relationship, that Peter hasn’t kept quiet for the whole afternoon, that Tony’s heart doesn’t ache at the sight of the two most important people in his life and wish for things he’s maybe not allowed to have.

Tony looks, just for a beat. Just enough to take his fill and soothe the aching parts of his soul.

Peter is beautiful. Truly. He always has been, of course, but this is perhaps the moment when Tony’s brain fully assimilates all the changes Peter has gone through.

His hair is back to the short style he’d had before, thanks to Mantis’ surprisingly adept skills. Tony can’t say he won’t miss the long hair, even if just to have the pleasure of playing with it more than it actually looking better. Peter’s practically non-existent beard is clean shaved — although Tony must admit that it had been filling out more as of late, much to Peter’s adorable excitement.

There is a pink tint to his cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat of the fire and everything to do with the fact that it has been over a week since they last spent time in the sun on an alien planet and months on end before that. Tony himself feels his skin smarting from the sunlight.

Tony takes in Peter’s strong arms — fuller, finally, much to his relief —, his broad shoulders, his chiseled jaw, the subtle air of confidence that surrounds him. He takes in the sight of Olive in Peter’s arms, lips pouty form sleep, brows free of any wrinkles. At peace. Safe. Absolutely trusting.

And Tony _wants_. He desperately wants.

A peal of laughter drags his eyes away from his dreams. Tony tunes his hearing to catch the last of a retelling from Quill about one of his many exploits around the universe.

“No, seriously, I had no idea she was still on the ship. I didn’t go down there for two whole days!”

There’s another round of laughter, immediately increased when Gamora smacks him upside the head.

“Rude.”

“Hey! I’m way better now.”

Groot makes a noncommittal sound which has Quill sending him a betrayed look and the rest breaking into renewed laughter.

Tony’s eyes draw back to Peter, warmth filling him at the sight of him chuckling at Quill’s antics.

He feels a tap on his foot — of his good leg, thankfully, because the other still aches with those types of motions. Tony turns to the side and meets Natasha’s face, completely blank apart from a single raised eyebrow.

He was definitely right, she and Gamora are too similar for his sanity.

Tony flashes her a bright grin. “What’s up, Tashy-poo.” The eyebrow goes up higher, danger signals flashing brightly in front of him. Tony ignores them because he obviously still has a reckless streak. “Coming to tell me how much you missed my pretty face?”

Natasha hums, unimpressed. “I preferred the beard with the braids, to be frank.”

Tony bursts into genuine, carefree laughter and is rewarded with a small quirk of her lips in return.

“I missed you,” he confesses with a soft sigh. 

It takes her by surprise almost as much as him. But then her features smooth into something inexplicably tender and incredibly rare.

“I missed you too, Tony. A lot. Things haven’t been the same without you. Or Peter.”

She darts a look at Peter, a quick there and gone before he can blink, and Tony is sure she knows. Surprisingly, it doesn’t make him want to run for the hills. If there’s anyone who might not judge, it would probably be her. Not Rhodey, not Pepper — although they might not either, in the long run — but Natasha, who has learned to play by a whole different set of morals.

So Tony leans back on his hands, lets his shoulders drop. “Yeah. It hasn’t exactly been the same for us either.”

Natasha’s too clever eyes examine him for a moment, quiet, assessing. She tilts her head a fraction, mouths “It’s serious?” and Tony understands that she’s doing it for his benefit, aware even when he’d nearly forgotten that Peter can probably hear their whole conversation if he chooses to focus.

Tony chances a glance at Peter, observes him chatting animatedly to Bucky, who is surprisingly vocal in his responses. He turns back to Natasha and nods, then makes a face that’s probably too vulnerable in his doubts.

Natasha’s lips press in understanding, then she drops to the floor and burrows in between his legs, casually leaning back as if none of this is weird at all. Which, to be fair, Tony has had weirder.

“Do my hair, will you? I’ve heard you’re an expert braider now.”

She’s not facing him anymore but Tony can just picture the pursed lips from when she’s trying to contain her amusement.

He huffs out a short, disbelieving chuckle. “Sure. Why not make use of my genius hands that have built million-dollar suits and weapons of mass destruction to braid your hair into a pretty princess style,” he quips.

She simply curls back further into him, rearranging herself with more comfort. “Exactly.”

Tony snorts out another laugh and gets to work, getting lost in the feel of her soft hair and the laughter around the bonfire. Sometimes — more than sometimes — his eyes dart back to Peter, but he thinks no one can really blame him for that.

* * *

Tony can’t sleep.

This in itself should not be a surprise. Tony is a well-known insomniac. Heck, some — if not most — of his best inventions have occurred during his many engineering benders, complete with days without sleep and minimal food consumption.

But this was before. Before zapping flashes of light and 117,38 square feet rooms and a constant, comforting presence next to him for five-hundred and ten days. Tony had forgotten, in all honesty, that he hadn’t spent his life sleeping mostly peacefully every night.

And that’s another thing. The nightmares. Tony’s familiar with nightmares, with flashbacks and panic attacks and waking up in the middle of the night with his girlfriend screaming because his suit had almost killed her. Yes, Tony is familiar with that. But lately, it had been in that distant, knowing its effects but not remembering the feeling kind of way. Sakaar had been bad for many reasons, but the nightmares had never come, then.

They do now. With almost gleefully malevolent force. The only thing missing is the evil cackle and the maniacal clap of hands to go with them.

So Tony can’t sleep.

His baby girl has been set up in her own room, next to his but not close enough to his liking. He’s been told repeatedly that this is a good thing, that children need their own space and that parents do too. That kids need to learn how to become independent and to self-soothe and all the other psycho-babble that people parrot from cheap parenting books.

Tony knows all of that too — he did spend a significant amount of time speed-reading through all those exact psycho-babbling parenting books, after all. But that’s not even the problem.

Olive sleeps just as peacefully in her own room as she does in Tony’s bed. It’s almost troubling how easy it is. It makes something in him warp with doubts, with worries. Is he a bad dad? Is that why she doesn’t care one way or the other if she sleeps with him or alone? Did spending her first month away from her parents and being looked after by who knows whom mess her up?

Olive not sleeping is not a problem. Olive sleeping just as peacefully is, evidently. Tony thinks his brain is ridiculous but he can’t stop it.

And worst, perhaps — Tony can’t sleep without someone by his side anymore. And even his daughter had not been enough to curb that ache, as was evident by his first sleepless night back.

The truth is, Tony got used to sleeping with Peter next to him. When Peter had been gone for all those months, there’d been Gamora. He knows he didn’t sleep as peacefully then, but he did sleep. And she was a comforting presence. Undeniably so. But Peter has become everything to him, and it seems like that involves his ability to sleep as well.

Tony takes a sip of his coffee with a bone-weary sigh.

He’s so fucking tired. He’s got shadows under his eyes that make him look as if he’s trying to go for a Rocket impersonation. His brain is sluggish and his patience crumbling. He snapped at Mantis, yesterday. _Mantis_. There’s probably no one sweeter than her in the whole world and Tony was still a massive dick to her because _he can’t fucking sleep_.

He’s getting concerned eyes from his friends. Even Pepper, who had to go back to New York to run his company, video calls him at least twice a day and keeps asking him how he’s doing. Rhodey, spurned on by Pepper — and those two are definitely sleeping together, Tony is sure of it, he’s just waiting for them to crack and tell him already — keeps checking up on him throughout the day. Even Nebula has given him a few mild looks, which for her scream worry as loudly as the speakers in Madison Square Garden.

Natasha keeps gently insisting that he call his therapist. Tony will — he _will_ , seriously, he has to, just... not yet. In the meantime, Thor has declared himself responsible for making sure Tony gets back into shape by eating as much as he possibly can as well as sparring with him whenever he’s free.

It’s all exhausting. Everything, everyone, it’s all just exhausting, but Tony still can’t sleep.

Peter stayed at the Compound — and this is the one thing that makes Tony catch at least a couple hours of shut-eye a night.

May had headed back into the city their second day back.

“You should come back with me, Pete.” Peter’s expression had screamed panic for a moment. May had caught it and hurried to say, “Spend time in the old neighborhood, see your friends. Ned and MJ are back in New York, they’re starting their new jobs this summer. It’ll be good for you, Pete, going back to normal.”

Tony could tell that was the exact wrong thing to say, and yet he couldn’t not be grateful for it.

Peter’s lips had formed into something too painful to be called a smile. “Another time, May. Just— Just not yet.”

May had looked at him for a long moment before darting her eyes in Tony’s direction who had tried and failed to look as if he hadn’t heard every single word.

“You’ll visit,” May had said. Not at all open for debate.

And Peter had nodded, weakly but then more determined at her fierce look.

May had gone, but Peter had stayed.

And yet Tony has barely seen him. Peter spends his days with the rest of the Avengers, training almost religiously as if he’s got something to prove. He spends time with the Guardians on and off the Benatar. Takes them on the trips he’d promised into the city — thanks to Dr. Strange’s damn useful illusion charms to curb the chaos of aliens in New York — where they spend Tony’s money and are kind enough not to put up a fuss about it. All of them come back with ridiculous souvenirs, stomachs full of greasy food, and goofy smiles on their faces.

Tony’s chest somehow both hurts and threatens to burst with happiness at the sight.

Peter spends time with Olive. Every single day. He’ll take her from Gamora’s arms after breakfast when Thor insists Tony spar with him, and then he’ll take her from Tony’s arms after lunch when Tony spends time in the lab, catching up with everything he’s missed and getting lost in conversations with FRIDAY while his brain rapid-fires about new inventions.

But he doesn’t spend time with Tony beyond the group setting or the quiet exchanges of Olive from arm to arm.

It’s almost painfully absurd, Tony thinks. They act like a divorced couple splitting their kid between them and only maintaining as much contact as socially required.

It’s laughably heartbreaking.

The worst part is, Tony’s not even sure if he’s allowed to grieve for a relationship that’s never been defined, for something that never actually ended. He doesn’t know. He still doesn’t know what they are or what they were because they still won’t talk about it. Or talk, period.

And yeah, Tony is at least fifty percent to blame for this ridiculous lack of communications, but… He can’t. He doesn’t know how to bring it up, doesn’t know how to open himself up for the possibility of rejection.If everything is all in the air, at least his dreams aren’t completely shut down, right?

Something like that. Tony can’t sleep. He can’t fucking sleep and his thoughts are all a jumbled mess.

His mug is mutely taken from his hands and just as quietly replaced by a new one.

Tony blinks, looking at the light green liquid and wondering if his lack of sleep has reached the hallucination stage yet. He’s been there before, it’s a whole trip. But it’s only been six days of practically non-existent sleeping, he’s sure the hallucinations usually come at around day nine or ten.

Maybe old age has sped up the process?

There’s a noise then, the almost imperceptible sound of a chair being pulled back which he can only hear because everything is so deathly quiet. Because everyone is asleep. Like real, functioning people.

Tony looks up, movements sluggish as he computes the sight before him.

Ah. Definitely hallucinating, then. Apparently, when you’re past fifty, sleep deprivation hits harder.

The Peter his mind has conjured up raises a curious brow. There’s also something quirking at the corner of his lips, almost like an amused smile.

Undoubtedly a hallucination, then.

“Not a hallucination,” the hallucination says.

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” Tony informs him. Well, he’s self-aware enough to know that he’s talking to himself, at least. He’s done worse, probably. Almost definitely.

The hallucination’s smile grows softer, fond. Tony snorts. Such an obvious tell from his brain. He’s quite sure he used to form more believable hallucinations. Or maybe it was the drugs?

“Maybe if you stopped drinking coffee in the middle of the night you’d sleep better,” the hallucination says instead of defending its own realism.

Tony decides that his brain is obviously not bothering to argue with itself, although it does seem to be inclined to be particularly judgey tonight.

“Coffee’s not the problem. Sleep is the problem. Coffee’s just helping me deal with the problem.”

He thinks he might be more eloquent with more sleep but, oh well. It’s his own brain, he already knows what the problem is.

“Yeah,” fake-Peter says. He sighs heavily, sounding almost as tired as Tony feels. It makes sense, of course. Even his brain is too tired to properly create energetic figments of his imagination. “Sleep is definitely a problem.”

Tony hums. He looks down at his tea, takes a dubious sip. “Blegh.” He makes a face, then takes another sip. Nope, not improving at all. “Is this Bruce’s feet tea? Why are you voluntarily torturing me with this shit, brain?”

His brain shows its reaction to that in the form of a snorting hallucination. “Still don’t think I’m real, huh?”

“Real Peters don’t give real Tonys Brucie bear’s disgusting tea.”

Fake-Peter makes a considering noise and takes a sip of his own drink. Tony doesn’t think it’s feet tea. It’s probably coffee and his brain is mocking him with things he can’t have. Stupid brain.

“Drink your tea, Tony. It’ll help.”

It shows just how desperate he is that he’ll take advice from his own poorly constructed hallucinations. Or maybe just the Peter ones. He’ll do just about anything Peter asks him — real or fake Peter it would seem.

The hallucination stays until Tony makes his way out of the kitchen and back to try his luck with his pillow. He’s asleep before he truly comprehends what is happening, and the nightmares are blissfully absent.

When Tony wakes up the next day feeling almost like his regular self, he could cry. Then Olive cries again, proof that he hadn’t even woken up voluntarily, and he’s back to dealing with life with at least some modicum of sanity.

* * *

He’s back in the kitchen again at ass-o’clock looking dejectedly at another cup of coffee and wishing it would fix all his problems. And he’d been so hopeful too during the whole day. It goes to show you what half of a good night’s sleep does to a person. Unrealistic expectations and crushed hopes.

It’s almost like déjà vu when his mug is replaced again by the same vile tea.

Tony is almost afraid to look up.

Once was probably all a conjuring of his active imagination, twice is an impossibility. Especially when he’s not nearly sleep-deprived enough to start seeing things.

Which means that yesterday had also been very real and Tony had wasted an entire conversation with Peter — his first real, strain-free conversation — by claiming him a hallucination.

Great. Just great, really. Absolutely fantastic. Tony is so winning at this mature grown-up thing.

“Still think I’m not real?”

Tony looks up with a snap of his neck. Peter’s voice is laced with humor even though his face is guarded. But he spoke. He actually spoke to Tony, teased him, even, and he gave him tea. Horrible, foul-tasting tea, but tea nonetheless.

Tony is so overwhelmed that he doesn’t really find any words to say to Peter. Practically a rarity, although much more common as of late.

Peter takes a sip of his drink, puts it down, and says, “Did it help?”

— at the same time as Tony finds his errant words and bursts out with a brilliant, not awkward at all, “I know you’re real now.”

Tony ducks his head in embarrassment, cheeks flushing. He’s deeply grateful for the darkness surrounding them but is painfully aware that Peter’s spider powers mean he sees more than most.

There was a time when Tony was all smooth talking and witty comebacks. He remembers those, distantly. These days he wonders if he lost that man somewhere in that gaudy maze of a tower. Or maybe that part of him had been mostly stored in his right thigh.

That would seriously explain a lot.

But Peter doesn’t mock Tony at all. He laughs. A short, tiny little chuckle. Timid, almost. But real, so very real and so painfully fundamental to Tony’s well-being, that it’s no wonder his brain hasn’t been functioning at full capacity this past week without hearing Peter laugh at least once a day.

Tony stares at him for a long moment, mesmerized. He’s aware he’s making quite the sight, but is literally unable to stop.

Peter, though, instead of calling him out on it, or, worse, just walking out, does exactly the opposite. He ducks his head, bites his lip, and Tony knows — he _knows_ — that if there had been enough light in the kitchen for him to see anything properly he’d see him blush.

It makes Tony stare harder, his mouth parting in shock.

This can’t… How is this happening? Tony had thought— he was sure that— Well. Let’s not get carried away, he tells himself firmly.

Baby steps. Baby steps are good. Perfect. Absolutely required, in fact.

Tony decides to start now. He clears his throat, puts on a dashing smile. “It did, thank you. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.” He takes another sip, making an obvious show of it, and then can’t contain the face of disgust that immediately follows. “God, that’s vile. Seriously, are you even drinking this shit? It might work but this is some serious level of punishment that is honestly quite uncalled for.”

Peter allows his lips to form a small, teasing smile. “Drink your greens, Tony. They’re good for you.”

Tony sticks his tongue out at him because he is the prime example of maturity in this house. It elicits a chuckle in response, which Tony takes as an absolute win and decides to store away to savor later.

“Yeah, yeah. What are you drinking, anyway? I bet it’s not this shit, you’re all sneaky like that.”

Peter’s expression says everything, the little shit.

Tony makes a grab for Peter’s mug and takes a sip before Peter can even protest it. Actually, Peter probably let him, now that he thinks about it. Those spider powers are too useful.

Tony chooses to consider this progress.

The asshole is not drinking feet tea.

“Hot chocolate,” Tony says, lips curling in contempt. “You get fucking amazing hot chocolate and give me this poison? I’m honestly appalled, Peteroo. And to think of all those times I let you have all my wuqau just because they were your favorite.” He tuts noisily and puts on a face of great affront.

Peter bites his lower lip in a visible effort to contain his humor. It has the unfortunate side-effect that Tony’s eyes are immediately drawn to his mouth and all the good things he could be doing with it.

“You have to watch out for diabetes, Tony. Old age problems are catching up.”

Tony throws his slipper at him. It’s soft and everything, so it doesn’t do much damage, and Peter obviously let himself get hit, but that’s not the point. Tony takes hold of Peter’s chocolate mug and drains the whole thing in one petty go while Peter laughs and laughs and laughs.

Tony places the mug on the island, its clatter barely heard over Peter’s amusement. Tony’s fingers grip onto the marble, warring against his body’s instincts to sweep Peter into a toe-curling kiss. It’s a serious effort, his fingers hurt with the strain and his heart pounds and pounds in his chest.

But he succeeds — barely — and instead just watches Peter laugh like Tony’s a dying man in a desert. He’s been that dying man in the desert, it is definitely like that. A balm to his soul, a fucking helicopter when he was least expecting but most desperately needing it.

Peter quiets down, a self-conscious expression on his features when he realizes Tony has been watching him like the besotted fool he is.

“What?” Peter asks, swiping at his lips as if he thinks some non-existent milk-mustache might be why Tony’s staring.

Tony shakes his head in an effort to snap out of his reverie. This is not the time to be making things awkward, he admonishes himself.

“Nothing, Pete. That was some really good hot chocolate by the way.”

Peter pulls on a conspiratorial face. “Natasha’s secret stash.”

Tony gasps dramatically. “You didn’t. She’ll kill you. Literally, slice your neck open while you sleep and then cut you up into little pieces and spread them all over the grounds.”

Peter smirks. “Worth it.”

Tony looks at him — at his smile, his eyes which are finally shinning with something other than the dullness that’s been haunting them for the past week, at the fact that he’s actually here, talking to Tony, joking and laughing with him.

Yes, he thinks, absolutely one hundred percent worth it.

“Definitely beats the tea. You better not give me any more of that or I’ll tell Natasha.”

Peter pulls on an affronted look. “You wouldn’t.”

Tony raises a brow in challenge. He too has had lessons from Gamora, thank you very much.

Peter lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. But if your blood sugar shoots up I don’t wanna hear it.”

Tony cheerfully flips him off. He automatically takes another sip of his mug and spits it right back up. “Ugh. Gross. I have to go brush my teeth now, this is all your fault.”

Peter rolls his eyes, gets up from his stool, stretches languidly. Tony is possibly a little caught up in the sight, Peter’s muscles making a welcome appearance under his T-shirt.

Tony clears his throat and jumps to his feet. “Alrighty then, I’m off…” He trails off, unsure. He desperately wants Peter to join him, wants to ask him to do it. Wants Peter to just assume and decide to follow Tony.

Wants it all to be as easy as before.

But Peter nods, says, “Yeah. Me too,” and doesn’t look at Tony like he’s expecting either an invitation or intending to just join him.

Tony sags. Just a little bit. Just because he’s still ridiculously hopeful, against all odds. But he plasters on a bright smile and convinces himself that this is progress and certainly more than he deserves at any rate.

“Sleep well, Pete,” he whispers, as tenderly as he dares, and is out of the kitchen and in his bedroom as quickly as his mangled leg allows, heart pounding in his chest, forgotten slipper left behind like he’s some middle-aged version of fucking Cinderella.

* * *

It becomes a habit. Tony wakes up in the middle of the night, heads to the kitchen to mope about his life, gets some company almost as soon as he sits down. It’s suspiciously as if Peter hears him walk down the corridor and follows him. But of course Tony is not letting himself think of that possibility and decides on the more obvious conclusion of it’s all a big coincidence that they’re always awake at the same time.

But they are, is his point. He doesn’t even bother with making himself a coffee anymore because Peter never fails to make him a second mug of Natasha’s not-so-secret stash of hot chocolate. Tony has actually had FRIDAY order a whole bunch which he and Peter replace every night like a couple of misbehaving kids trying not to get caught.

And it’s nice. It’s really fucking nice, actually. Tony wakes up from a nightmare or, worse, a pleasant memory, heads to the kitchen, drinks some hot chocolate with his something-Peter, trades soft words and quiet laughter, and then goes back to sleep.

And he does sleep. Peacefully, always peacefully, after.

Peter is his light in the dark. He’s known it for long — knows it deep in his bones, engraved into his very DNA — but it’s oh so very obvious now.

He might not need Peter to breathe, to function, to live. He’s not in some cheesy pocketbook romance — if anything, Tony Stark’s story would be worthy of New York Times’ bestselling novels, an epic tale to put alongside the greats. Or so he tells himself, in his most fantastical, egotistical moments.

But his point is, he doesn’t need Peter, but he sure as hell wants him. Peter is the difference between a life lived, and a life well-lived. He’s the difference between waking up and working and spending time with your loved ones, and actually feeling like he’s got something under his skin which makes everything feel better, brighter, warmer.

He might not need Peter to live, but he needs him to feel _alive_.

And so Tony goes back. Night after night, whether he wakes up with a scream or a moan. And Peter is always there.

They could have more, he thinks sometimes, when he’s being particularly maudlin. They could be like they were, before. But he’s so scared to take the plunge, so afraid that Peter will point out all the reasonable arguments why they definitely shouldn’t.

Hell, he doesn’t even know if Peter wants to. He thinks he does, he thinks he knows what all the looks are, all the soft smiles and aborted moves to touch, to get closer. Tony’s fifty-fucking-three years old — he caught up, finally, with all the birthdays — he knows damn well what it looks like when someone wants him. But there’s a difference between wanting and being able to have.

Tony thinks that the real problem is that they’re not back in their little room. Everything was easy there. Horrible, but easy. It was just them, no morals, no judgment, no repercussions. Just Tony and Peter together. It was easy, the easiest thing after they overcame the hardest obstacle within themselves.

Being home, however, comes with all the moral hang-ups and people’s reactions. Tony doesn’t know if Peter’s ready for that. Doesn’t know if he wants to put Peter through that.

Tony lets out a heavy breath, leans his forearms on the island. Peter should be here any minute now. Tony should probably start making the hot chocolate, but today has been a nightmare day, Tony having woken up with screams for Peter and Olive and Gamora while the Grandmaster had taken them all away to have their own show and Tony got left behind, abysmally unable to do anything about it.

He doesn’t have much energy to get up, let alone make sure he doesn’t burn down the Compound.

Peter comes into the kitchen with his usual soft steps. It would’ve given Tony a startle had he not been keeping his ears acutely attuned to the sound.

Tony’s lips curve into an involuntary smile, a knee-jerk reaction every time he sees Peter.

Peter returns the gesture softly, almost shyly. “Hey.”

His voice is hoarse, so he probably just woke up too. Sometimes Tony is quite certain that Peter doesn’t sleep before their middle of the night kitchen runs. On those nights his voice is more tired but his demeanor more active.

“Bad dream?” Tony asks, then immediately winces in regret.

This they don’t do. They mutely acknowledge that neither of them can sleep and that is about it. Apparently, Tony’s mouth didn’t get the memo tonight.

Peter looks at him, blinks his eyes in surprise. “Yeah,” he says, and leaves it at that as he heads for the drawer Natasha stuck the chocolate in laxative boxes in and starts to make the hot chocolate automatically.

Tony watches him silently, and they drink their respective mugs just as quietly. It seems as if tonight’s a quiet night. Tony wonders what Peter’s dreams were about. Nothing good, most probably.

Tony drains his mug, licks his lips absently. Peter might actually have a point with the diabetes thing, he thinks with wry amusement. This might be too many sweets in a row for him. He can’t really make himself stop, though, not if this means that he gets to spend a few precious moments with Peter every night.

And he definitely is not willing to replace it with feet tea, thank you very much.

Peter has a faraway look in his face, eyes set on the marble countertop in a manner which obviously does not indicate his sudden interest in analyzing the stone pattern.

A very bad dream, then.

Tony’s legs move without his permission. For that matter, so do his arms and mouth. Tony walks over to Peter and, before he realizes what’s happening, he’s got a hand on Peter’s lower back, the other tapping away on the countertop.

“Come to bed,” he says, realizing what he’s just implied a second too late.

Peter’s eyes snap up to his lightning-fast. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens again, then closes. He looks like he’s warring with himself and Tony would find it amusing if he weren’t too busy trying to stop his imminent heart attack by sheer willpower alone.

Finally, Peter settles for giving up on speech altogether. He gets up, gives Tony a shaky smile — more a hesitant grimace, actually, if Tony were to look too closely — and then silently follows after him towards Tony’s bedroom.

Tony thinks he might just lose it tonight. He really does. He directs them into his bedroom, walks up to his king-sized bed as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, pulls back the haphazardly strewn sheets so Peter can slide right in, and all the while a mantra plays in his head, screaming at him _don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up._

The very air between them feels fraught with tension. Peter lies almost militaristically still on the bed, so far away from Tony that they could fit another two people in between them. Or perhaps one Hulk.

Tony turns on his side facing Peter, feeling like a magnet has taken over his body. His thigh muscle pulls in the process and Tony winces, rubbing absently at it.

Peter notices. “How’s it healing?”

“Alright. Good. Slow but… good.”

Tony winces again, this time out of sheer lamentation for his lost smooth-talking abilities. He used to be cooler. He’s ninety-nine percent sure Tony Stark used to be the epitome of cool. Good times, those.

Peter nods. “Good. That’s… good.”

Oh, fantastic. So they both completely suck at this. Tony feels only marginally better.

Tony watches Peter’s profile in the moonlight, feeling like some sort of Renaissance poet. But those sonnets must have had some basis of truth because Tony looks at Peter and his heart sings like he’s in some ridiculous musical.

Absurd. And yet.

Peter tips his head to the side, narrows his eyes when he catches Tony looking. “That’s not sleeping,” he points out, a hint of amusement over the general nervousness.

Tony shakes his head, then finds his bravery somewhere very deep down inside him. “Can I hold you? I just… it’d help,” he weakly ends with. Well, brownie points for effort or something.

But Peter all but jumps into his arms, and Tony finds that he couldn’t contain the smile that overtakes his lips even if he tried.

“Better?” Peter asks, a mix of shy and cheeky.

Tony answers him, devastatingly honest. “Perfect.”

* * *

That becomes their new routine, only now they don’t wait until they wake up in the middle of the night to meet. Tony thinks his blood sugar levels probably thank him, but his tastebuds desperately miss the midnight treat.

The rest of him is almost in heaven with the feel of Peter’s warm, firm body sleeping next to him every night. Tony can hardly believe that he’s allowed this again — to hold him, to curl against him, to have Peter curl against Tony, to fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating, even when the summer temperatures make it seem like a bad idea. But that’s what air conditioning was invented for and Tony takes full advantage of it, refusing to let go of Peter for the whole night, just like they did in Sakaar.

And he sleeps. Dear lord, he’s finally able to sleep, most nights even from start to finish without waking up.

There are still nightmares, both his and Peter’s. Tony’s therapist — he’s finally started seeing her again after both Pepper _and_ Natasha threatened to tie him to a chair if he didn’t — says that it’s normal. That oftentimes the nightmares only come when someone feels safe, that’s it’s not unheard of for someone to experience the level of trauma they have and only feel the full effects later. Something about the fact that while they were living it their nightmares never actually stopped, they were reality instead.

What does he know, he just pays her to be the expert. And she is.

Tony asked her to recommend someone for Peter, who had stared at Tony for two minutes and seventeen seconds — Tony absolutely counted — and then finally agreed to go.

Tamara also says that Tony’s feelings are alright, and this is where he has some serious trouble accepting her judgment.

Even though he and Peter sleep together every night — strictly sleeping, not even a kiss so far — Tony still feels mountains of guilt and worry about being with him. He’s fifty-three years old with a child, a hole in his leg, a chest full of scars, and more mental problems than any sane person could probably handle.

Peter is amazing, the absolute best thing in the world right up there with Olive — he doesn’t need a broken, middle-aged man as his… something. Tony can’t even bring himself to think about the word, that’s how screwed up he is.

But apparently, according to his very expensive therapist, all of this is normal and expected and even healthy. Or so she claims. Tony had looked at her funny for a whole moment before asking her if she’d eaten some of Groot’s literal space brownies before their session.

Well. She said she didn’t but Tony still can’t see how having all these doubts is healthy. In the end, he settles for muting that dubious voice in his head — not his Pepper-conscience, that one is much more insidious, this is one that’s been a companion of his for as long as he remembers and oftentimes sounds an awful lot like his father.

As previously mentioned: a whole warehouse full of issues.

Ignoring the doubts is an ongoing process and harder on some days than others, but he’s trying. He promised Peter once that he’d try, and it wasn’t about this at all but Tony thinks it’s an easily adapting promise.

Peter himself remains frustratingly quiet on the whole ‘are they, are they not’ business. Not that Tony voices any of his thoughts out loud to him either but… He’s a hypocrite, he freely admits it. Peter’s supposed to be the brave one anyways.

Tony knows Peter craves his company, sees it in his too-expressive eyes, catches it in those moments when Peter thinks that Tony is asleep. It’s there, it’s all there, which makes it even more frustrating that he doesn’t do anything about it, doesn’t say a single thing. Tony doesn’t know if he’s allowed to kiss him, doesn’t know if Peter wants to hear how Tony feels.

Heck, for all he knows, Peter just wants this, a peaceful night’s sleep and some comfort. Tony wants that too, but then he wants the whole damn world as well.

And Tony can’t ask for it, he won’t. He’s taken so many things from Peter already, he won’t put him on the spot like that, not for this. This has to come from him.

Is he worried that Peter isn’t sure of Tony’s feelings and is therefore keeping quiet on the matter? Possibly. Is he going to do much about it? Probably not.

“You are,” Rhodey says, adding a smack to Tony’s head for good measure.

Tony lets out a half-hearted “Hey,” and rubs at his head with a pout. “Precious goods in here, platypus, watch the merchandise. This baby is the damn moneymaker.”

He receives an unimpressed look in response. “Pepper still kept your company up and running perfectly well without your genius ass.”

“Okay, just because you’re sleeping with her doesn’t mean she’s now perfect,” Tony points out, completely forgetting the waiting game he’d been playing all by himself. Oh well, the cat’s out of the bag. Rhodey makes a comically shocked face which Tony ignores. “And just for your information, your perfect girlfriend might be a brilliant CEO but my ideas are what kept the company running and she was just lucky that FRIDAY let her access my creative files. Those babies run out and SI goes,” he whistles to match the downward spiral of his thumb.

Rhodey’s face goes through a myriad of expressions before he settles on a frown, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “She’d totally make it work.”

Tony makes an unconvinced sound. “Uh-huh. Not gonna comment on the whole your girlfriend bit? Don’t I deserve to hear about all the details?”

He flashes Rhodey a playful grin, wiggling his eyebrows obscenely. Rhodey rolls his eyes at him because he’s no fun at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you expecting to get back together again? I’m pretty sure we were just talking about your ridiculous puppy eyes towards one Peter Parker.”

Tony narrows his eyes at him. “I’m revoking best friend privileges. You’re no longer on the run for my daughter’s godfather.”

Rhodey points a threatening finger at him. “Don’t you dare, Anthony.”

“Hey, no name-calling! What is this, your mom’s house?”

“Oh, you know my mama would’ve whooped your ass by now if she saw you moping after the kid like a lovesick puppy.”

Tony winces for all kinds of reasons, but he voices only one. “Don’t call him a kid. Seriously. It… I can’t even think of him like that, Rhodey.”

Rhodey’s face goes instantly serious. “Tones… You know I don’t mean it like that, it’s just a nickname.”

“I know.”

“But it bothers you.”

Tony nods once, sharply. “Can’t think of him like that. It’s already bad enough.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that, Tones. Don’t keep beating yourself up. Seriously, man, you gotta stop this.”

Tony looks at him pleadingly. “How? How can I stop this if it doesn’t change the facts. He’s always going to be thirty years younger than me, always going to be that high schooler I practically kidnapped into a fight with my teammates. Always going to be someone I was supposed to mentor, not fucking sleep with and then go and fall— How is it ever going to be alright?” Tony asks, getting desperate enough at the end that he only realizes he’s practically shouting when he suddenly goes quiet and his voice echoes in his ears.

Thank fuck they’re in the lab and no one’s around.

Rhodey looks at him with understanding that is honestly quite a bit too much. But Tony is desperate and pathetic and really quite loathsome, and a broken part of him just wants his best friend to fix this for him, to tell him that it’s okay.

“He’s not that kid anymore,” Rhodey counters evenly. He’s always had that ability, Tony absently thinks. When Tony’s spiraling, Rhodey’s voice gets calmer and calmer until Tony finds his reason within his words. It always works. “Hell, he’s not a kid at all, which I should really catch up on.” He smiles crookedly but Tony can’t really muster a response.

Rhodey sighs, weals his chair forward until his knees are touching Tony’s, the metal of the brace a cool comfort.

“You did good, Tones. You hear me? You did good. You saved yourself, you saved Peter, and you brought both of you home. Got it?”

Tony starts to shake his head because he thinks Rhodey’s the one who doesn’t get it but Rhodey doesn’t let himself get deterred.

“I get it. Trust me, I do. We all saw him grow up, saw him go from awkward teen with a major crush on you to a confident young man.”

“He didn’t have—”

“He did a little bit,” Rhodey says, amused. “Mostly it was disguised as the biggest case of hero-worshipping I’ve ever seen, but. Definitely there if you know where to look. And believe me, as your best friend for almost forty years, I know damn well where to look.”

Tone thinks back to all those months ago when he’d first slept with Peter and had been reassured that neither of them had ever thought about it before. It had been a weird sort of comfort, then, which means Rhodey’s words are not helping at all.

“I’m not sure this is making me feel any better. No, actually, pretty sure it’s not. You used to give better pep talks, honey bear, you’re slipping.”

Rhodey snorts out his amusement. “My point is, he’s all grown up now.” Tony makes a face but Rhodey ignores him. “He’s twenty-two fucking years old, man. At that age most men are already out of college, working, hell, some of them are even _dads_.”

Tony’s brain conjures up an unsolicited picture. Peter and Olive this afternoon, both of them napping on the couch with Finding Nemo playing in the background. It tugs at something deeply hidden within him, something that yearns and craves and wants all kinds of things it knows better than to want.

Rhodey’s face softens. “He’s not a kid, Tony, you’re right. He’s a man, and he’s a man who’s survived more than most. Has done more than most, is better than most.”

He pauses, very dramatic-like Tony wants to point out, but his eyes are being very firmly held in by Rhodey’s unrelenting gaze, practically demanding that Tony cave to his superior wisdom.

Tony wants to. He desperately wants to, but there’s still something holding him back.

Rhodey narrows his eyes, ready for the kill. “Now, are you going to just keep whining or are you going to get the fuck over yourself and go get your man?”

Tony blinks rapidly. Well. When he puts it like that…

Tony has not so secretly been hoping for some sort of permission, from anyone really but especially those whom he deems with the best moral compass. Rhodey accepting it, hell, telling him to go for it? Yeah, pretty sure that qualifies.

Tony feels a slow smile start to build on his face, brightening him from the inside out. He gives Rhodey a mock salute. “Sir, yes sir.”

Rhodey whacks him again on his head.

“Ouch. Watch it. See if I won’t teach Olive to call you Uncle Ro-Ro.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Tony gives him a shit-eating grin. Then he starts planning, he’s got a lot of things to think about.

“Good pep talk, by the way. Very motivational, A plus all around. Did you practice that in front of the mirror? I feel like you’ve improved with age, platypus. You’re like the human version of the finest scotch.”

Oh, there he is. It feels good to be back.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony starts slowly. Baby steps are good, he’s decided, even though he’s leaning more towards Olive’s level of speed rather than regular human babies.

Speaking of babies, Tony has decided that the best way to spend some time with Peter without putting too much pressure on either of them is to do it with Olive as a buffer.

Does he feel a bit bad about using his daughter? A little bit. Not nearly enough to change his mind, though.

Besides, he tells himself reasonably, Peter loves Olive and he very clearly loves spending time with her. And Olive loves him too. So, actually, Tony is really just being a good Samaritan and helping everyone out.

Tony decides he wants to take Olive out for a stroll. Not into the city, nothing too big, but just around the town, maybe to a little park. Something small.

The problem, of course, is that “She’s green. Not Gamora green, or Hulk green, but still green.”

Strange makes a sound which tells Tony everything his eyes can’t see through the phone call.

“I am aware. I did meet her, in case you’ve forgotten. Or is it that you’ve only just noticed that your daughter matches her name?”

Tony ignores his tone effortlessly. “The thing is, no one knows about her. Besides everyone at the Compound and you, I mean. And Pepper. But everyone else, they have no clue I have a half-alien child. Or a child, period. See what my problem is, now?”

“You could just tell them,” Strange says, although even his usual arrogance can’t make it sound like a good idea at all.

Tony snorts. “Yeah, no thanks. Her life will be a circus already when people find out she’s Tony Stark’s daughter let alone she’s part alien.”

“Hmm. And are you planning on telling the world you have a daughter?”

“At some point,” Tony concedes. Not now, not when everything is still so fresh, but eventually, yes. Maybe in a couple of months, if they can keep the press away for that long. “But right now I really just wanna go to the park with my kid and not have everyone stare at her ‘cause she’s green, or attack her or something.”

God, the simple thought that someone might, even a little baby, makes rage boil his blood. But they might. Tony has long ago stopped having faith in people and he knows that when people are scared, when they’re faced with the unknown, that they tend to act first and think later, if at all. And that the actions themselves leave much to be desired.

Strange makes an agreeing sound and is quiet for a moment. Tony waits, nervous for some unknown reason. Or perhaps not that unknown.

Olive has spent her very short life cooped up in one place or another. First the tower, then the ship, now the Compound. The only times she’s ever been outside properly were during their supply runs back on board the Benatar. The first time she’d seen something other than metal and concrete walls she’d cried, scared, and Tony’s heart had torn to pieces at the sound.

They’ve been home for over a month now and they still haven’t left. She goes outside, yeah, Tony and Peter often play with her on the grounds, and Nebula has taken it upon herself to take at least one walk around the Compound with Olive in the afternoons before her bath. But it’s not the same.

Tony just wants her to have a normal kid's life — or as normal as she’ll ever get with her crazy family.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to properly help you,” Strange starts. Tony feels his heart drop, but then Strange continues. “Our magic can do a lot of things — and I did give the Guardians those necklaces, but this wouldn’t be the same. Those are simple charms which merely make people overlook someone and see them as ordinary, they don’t change someone’s looks.”

“Why wouldn’t that work though?”

“Because you’re Tony Stark. If you go somewhere, you’re bound to be followed by people wanting to take photos of you—”

“And your charms don’t work on cameras,” Tony concludes.

He rubs a hand through his face, mind firing away and trying to come up with other solutions. Maybe the Guardians can find something in space? Or he can get in touch with Professor X, maybe one of his mutants has some sort of useful skill. Hell, as a last case resort, he supposes he can just dress Olive up like a fairy or something, glittery wings and all, and pretend her skin’s just painted on.

Not ideal, but it could work in a pinch. Not a definite solution either, but maybe Tony will just have to eventually come out and say he had a child with an alien. He’s done worse.

Probably not, though. This is pretty out there even for his standards.

“But I think I know someone who could help you,” Strange says, and yeah, Tony definitely could’ve done without the arrogance and with the solution before his brain went on a spiral.

“You could’ve just led with that, asshole.”

“What would be the fun in that, douchebag?”

“Just come out with it, some of us have more important things to do than looking after an old house. Or do you still have your side gig as a party wizard?”

Strange snorts something which Tony chooses to interpret as a laugh. “Loki,” he says afterwards.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Loki,” Strange repeats, slower this time, which at any other point Tony would’ve resented him for but now he might just need the extra time to process.

“Did you just suggest to me that I call Loki up and ask him to please come up with a human disguise for my daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Are you mad? The man threw me out a window, he brought the Chitauri to invade New York.”

And alright, Tony has since learned that he didn’t do any of those things on purpose, but it still stands that the guy is a huge dick all around. Thor himself tells them every other month of how Loki tried to screw things up again.

But Strange, because obviously too much magic is bad for the brain, merely lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“He’s reformed now,” Strange says appeasingly. Tony snorts. “Still a trickster, I agree, but reformed. I wouldn’t say this if it weren’t true, you know I’m responsible for keeping all magical threats away from Earth. I once trapped him in a free-falling loop for thirty minutes,” he adds, sounding incredibly smug about it.

Tony huffs out a laugh despite himself, mulling over the facts. In the end, the pros might just outweigh the cons, so Tony says, “Alright. I’ll talk to him. But I want you present to make sure there’s no funny business. This is my _daughter_.”

Strange’s reply is to hang up the call and open up a portal in the middle of Tony’s lab. He walks out with Loki in tow as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

Tony gives them a once over, completely unimpressed.

“You’re sleeping together.”

Loki makes a sound of protest but Strange remains stoically still, the only sign that Tony’s words are true a slight blush to his cheeks.

Tony leans back in his chairs and twirls it around obnoxiously. “Alright. I suppose if you’re in some kind of…” he waves a hand in the air, face contorting into a grimace, “Whatever this is, it must mean Loki really has changed. Or at least has less reasons to screw us just because he doesn’t care for the consequences.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“You have it,” Tony says, unashamedly enjoying the gobsmacked look on Loki’s face. Tony taps the screwdriver in his hand on the table, patternless but steady. “Gamora and Nebula told me about the whole Thanos thing. The scepter and the Mind Stone and… yeah. All around not a great situation, so. No grudges, I guess.”

Loki snaps his previously parted mouth shut, tugs on his tunic as if needing something to ground him. His eyes dart from Strange — who has remained completely emotionless — to Tony and everywhere in between.

“I…” Loki’s tongues swipes at his lower lip, gaze darting helplessly before he visibly steadies himself, holding himself straighter and almost haughty. “Thank you,” he says, giving Tony a small, regal nod.

Tony snorts. “Yeah, whatever. Now, onto why you two just decided to defy the laws of physics in my own lab. Loki can help, you said?”

Strange nods, a small smile softening his features. “I believe he can.”

“I might if you had actually told me what’s happening before simply dragging me along into one of your cute little portals.”

“Oh look, at least he finds them cute.” Tony grins widely, delighting in Strange’s eye roll in response.

“Proper mages don’t require the aid of portals to travel between places,” Loki haughtily informs them, but his eyes twinkle mischievously and Tony can just imagine all the teasing each other’s magic that counts as foreplay between those two.

Tony cackles viciously, all the way to the elevator where he motions with his hands for them to follow, all the way up to the lounge where he finds Mantis and Drax on their hands and knees on the floor, apparently having a competition with Olive to see which of the three of them can crawl faster.

“Oh man, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve heard all week.” Tony wipes delighted tears from the corner of his eyes. “Even your boyfriend thinks you’re a quack.” He delves into further laughter all the while ignoring Strange’s very unamused look.

Loki’s face takes on a slightly panicked expression. “I’m not his boyfriend. That is— we haven’t actually…”

“But he’s still a quack?”

Strange waves his hand in the air as if trying to swat their idiot away, magic cloak dancing along with it. “Alright, very funny. Ha ha. Now onto business, if you’d please. I don’t have all day.”

Tony nods seriously. “Of course. Things to do, balloons to fill.”

He turns around before Strange can make another comments and heads up to Olive, who looks as if this is the most important completion of her life.

Tony decides not to pick her up before she gets to the finish line because his eardrums are not up to a shouting match today. Mantis cries in victory, looking at all of them with a childlike ‘did you see me? were you looking at me?’ type of excited glee.

Tony gives her a fond smile. “You go, butterfly. Those are some seriously mad skills.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Mantis says, painfully earnest.

Tony’s smile widens but he very maturely doesn’t tease her. “It paid off for sure. Now, I’m here to take my little Ollie pie to get a check from the good doctor. But no shots today, baby, no need to pull on anyone’s beards.” He snaps his eyes from Olive to Strange quickly. “Hey, does she even need her shots? I hadn’t even considered— Actually, can you give her a real checkup? You know, whatever it is doctors do with tiny humans. Or half-humans.”

Strange looks at him for a moment in that way that Tony’s learned means ‘you talk a lot and really fast’ — so basically how most people look at him half the time. Not Peter though, he’s always matched Tony quip for quip.

“I don’t know, I’m a surgeon, not a pediatrician. I’m assuming she might but I have no idea how much of her DNA resembles a human and which parts. You might be better off taking her to a regular pediatrician.”

Tony snorts. “Right, that’ll go great. Hey doc, can you run some checks on my baby? She’s half-alien, by the way.”

“Regardless of your feelings on the matter, you will have to find her a doctor eventually. Every child needs a pediatrician, even half-alien ones, I’d imagine.”

Tony’s lips from a moue in response, but he has to concede the point. He’ll just ask Dr Cho for some recommendations.

He bounces Olive in his arms, waves with her hand at Mantis and Drax, still on the floor and apparently now resuming the competing amongst themselves. “Alright then, I’ll check it out later. Now onto business since we’re all very busy people.”

Loki, previously almost stone-like in his demeanor, as if scared he’d be shouted at for being in the Compound or something, gives Tony and Olive a long look before saying, “She’s really your child?”

There’s a look there, something hinting at not-so buried pain. The way Strange takes a step closer to Loki, posture changing into something protective — tender even, which Tony couldn’t have pictured before actually seeing it — lets him know that there must be a story he’s not aware of.

“Yeah. Our little oops baby,” Tony jokes, peppering Olive’s cheeks with kisses in apology. She obviously doesn’t know what he means but she’s not a big fan of all the exaggerated slobbering and swipes at Tony’s face rather viciously. And she’s strong too. Tony pulls back with a laugh. “Her mother is Gamora. I’m told you two have met?”

Loki blinks at him for a second before nodding sharply. “Briefly. My time with Thanos was… eventful.”

Strange’s little magic cloak curls a corner around Loki’s hand. Loki doesn’t react how Tony would expect at all; he sinks into the touch, posture softening.

Damn, those two are definitely more than just sleeping together. Tony wonders if Thor knows. If he doesn’t, it’ll probably be hilarious to be there when he finds out. Not that Tony will tell him, obviously, he just wants to watch the spectacle.

“I’ve heard he’s an asshole,” Tony says blithely, to which Loki snorts a surprised chuckle. Even Strange graces him with a small smile. “Anyways, before this little one decides to throw a fit because she wants to go back and play with Joey and Phoebe over there, let’s just get to it.” He repositions Olive in front of his chest so that she’s got her back to him and is now facing their guests. “Can you make her look human?”

Loki’s expression changes faster than Tony can blink. One moment he’s giving Olive a soft look, probably thinking about what a cute baby she is — a hundred percent unbiased truth — and the next he’s standing ramrod straight, lips into an invisible line, vicious glare aimed straight at Tony.

Tony actually takes a step back. He would never, usually, but these days he’s more worried about protecting his daughter than he is about posturing with crazy ex-villains.

Loki’s nostrils flare. “You wish to change her?” His tone is low, despite his obvious fury, but there’s no small amount of danger lacing it in spite of it.

Strange places a hand on Loki’s shoulder, though if he means it as a restraint or reassurance Tony doesn’t know.

Tony pulls Olive to his hip, angling her so she’s not directly facing Loki anymore.

“I don’t know what your problem is, exactly, but no. I just want something that will make her look human to other people.”

That doesn’t seem to placate Loki. “She’s not human and she’s perfectly fine the way she is. I refuse to help you change her into a lie,” he snarls, cheeks flushing and eyes sparkling with anger.

“Loki,” Strange tries, though Loki looks nearly ready to burst Tony’s head off and a simple uttering of his name is unlikely to change that.

Tony is seriously considering calling for his suits except that he knows Strange will actually intervene if Loki tries something. And Drax and Mantis will definitely do it. They’ve gone quiet, observing, and Tony can feel the tension radiating off of them in waves.

He sends them a brief look which he hopes they interpret as ‘don’t interfere’. It’s hard to tell with those two at the best of times.

Another reason why Tony won’t call his suits: he thinks he understands Loki’s problem with Tony’s request.

“I don’t want to change her,” he says, quiet but firm. He’s learned that in some cases it’s better to go gentle when the other person is gearing for a fight. He doesn’t use it often, usually preferring to just tear them down with insults and jokes, but he actually needs Loki’s help so needs must. “She’s perfect just the way she is and the last thing I am is embarrassed about her heritage.”

Loki’s fury doesn’t exactly abate but his eyes take a certain considering hue to them. “Why would you want me to make her look human then, if you’re not ashamed of what she is.”

“Because I haven’t told anyone about her, and when I do, I don’t plan on telling them she’s part alien. At least not in the foreseeable future.”

Olive’s little fingers start pulling at Tony’s arm hair, clearly over the conversation between the adults. Tony runs a hand through her hair, twirling her red curls.

“And why ever not?”

Tony sighs. “Because the first time we all found out about aliens was when you brought an army of monsters into our planet.”

Loki winces, Strange’s hand curls further in response, but they both remain quiet.

“Listen, in an ideal world, I’d let her run around in all her green glory. I really would. She’s perfect the way she is, I mean, look at this face? She’s adorable.” Olive doesn’t look impressed to have her cheeks pressed together but Tony ignores her glare. “But things aren’t like that. The only aliens people interact with without freaking out are you and your brother and the rest of the Asgardians. And even you guys are mostly just in your little town in the middle of Fuckwhere, Norway. And you look human,” he adds after a beat. “It’s easy to forget you’re not.”

“That may be, but do you truly believe it’ll be good for your daughter to grow up knowing she must hide who she is?”

“I don’t want her to hide, not from her family and friends. And if she wants to tell the whole world who she is, I’ll rally behind her with my cardboard signs supporting alien rights or whatever. But I want that to be her decision, not something that conditions her whole life without her choice. It’ll be hard enough being my daughter, she doesn’t need another thing.”

“People aren’t kind, Loki,” Strange says.

“I know that better than most, Stephen, I just don’t think it’s right. She shouldn’t have to present as someone she isn’t just because she’ll be surrounded by imbeciles.”

“No, yeah, totally. But we’re not there yet, reindeer games, we barely accept mutants as it is,” Tony says. “I don’t want her to be stared at wherever she goes, I don’t want people to bully her because of who she is. And most importantly, I really, _really_ don’t want the government knocking on my door trying to make their experiments on her.”

Loki looks stricken at that. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“The only reason there’s no one knocking down your Viking war halls is because of how much stronger you all are. And Thor. No one in their right mind wants to make an enemy out of the god of thunder. Me, I’m just human. Iron Man, but still human.”

Loki’s face looks as if he’s just been forced to try a particularly foul-tasting fudge, all sticky and hard to swallow. “I would rip apart anyone who dared try, I don’t need Thor for that.”

Tony chuckles. “Good. So you get it now? We cool? Can we finally get to the part where you actually do what you came here to do?”

Strange mutters an “Ungrateful,” not at all under his breath.

Loki sniffs haughtily. “I still think you should tell everyone to mind their own businesses, but…” He twists his lips, obviously struggling with the concession. Then, finally, “Yes. I will help you. But only because I would never wish on a child that level of hatred.”

Strange steps into Loki’s space, leans in to whisper in his ear something Tony can’t catch. But he watches the results: Loki’s face softens immediately, his shoulders relax, he leans in almost unconsciously towards Strange, letting their foreheads touch at an angle.

Disgustingly cute, Tony thinks. He can’t wait to tell Peter later.

“Thanks,” Tony says, and even manages to sound nothing but sincere. “So how’d we do this? Is there some chanting involved? You gonna walk around a circle and pray to the goddess of disguise or something? Are there potions? ‘Cause I don’t think that’ll work, she’s still exclusively breastfed.”

Well. Tony tried to not be an ass but some things are just inevitable. 

“Ignore him, he thinks he’s funny but he’s really just a douchebag,” Strange says. There’s a faint smile in his features though, so Tony just grins cheekily in response.

Loki rolls his eyes. “I’m more than accustomed to people being skeptical or downright suspicious of my _seidr_.”

Tony’s grin widens. “See? He grew up surrounded by douchebags, probably has a degree in how to handle douchebags and everything, you can keep the protective boyfriend act to other situations. Not that it’s not cute or anything, ‘cause it’s a whole look for you, Strange, I’ll give you that.”

This time Strange is the one to roll his eyes at him.

Loki, apparently impatient to get down to business now that he knows that Tony’s not wanting to hide his daughter’s heritage away, steps forward until he’s only a foot away from Tony and Olive.

He raises a hand in her direction. “May I?”

Tony ignores the sudden nerves at the prospect of someone performing magic on his baby and nods tersely. “Knock yourself out. But don’t hurt her,” he quickly adds.

Loki gives him a surprisingly understand look. “It doesn’t hurt, trust me.”

“Yeah? You’ve done this before?”

Before he can blink, Loki goes from his regular pale skin, green-eyed self, to blue — _blue_ , another blue one, a different shade too — and red eyes.

It’s a whole look, and Tony takes a moment to absorb it, remembering certain conversations where Thor mentioned Loki being adopted, and assimilate all of the now understandable reactions to Tony’s request before casually saying, “The blue suits you, reindeer games, you should show it more often.”

It’s obviously the right thing to say because Loki relaxes considerably, something which Tony only realizes after the fact, and Strange steps closer to them and presents Tony with his most sincere smile so far.

Olive makes an excited sound at Loki’s transformation, whether because of the transformation itself or because he now looks more like Nebula — who is Olive’s fourth favorite person right after her parents.

Loki’s face softens, his lips forming a gentle smile. “Hello, little one.”

Olive throws her arms at him and he catches her in shock, giving Tony a perplexed look. Tony waves away his concern and watches in amusement as Olive blabbers on to a now much more interesting Loki.

Slowly, Loki relaxes, his smile grows bigger and more unguarded, and Tony watches his daughter chip away at his former enemy’s armor like it was never there.

“Incredible, isn’t it? The power of a child’s affections.”

Tony looks at Strange sideways for a beat before refocusing his eyes. “You gonna have some of your own soon? ‘Cause I’m sensing some major dad vibes from you, facial hair bro.”

Strange snorts in amusement. “Perhaps.” He leaves it at that, and Tony takes pity on him and decides to focus back on Olive and Loki chattering away about nothing.

“Yes, fascinating, isn’t it?” Loki says. “May I see your arm, my Lady?” He gently reaches for it and she lets him, still blabbering unintelligibly but utterly uncaring.

Some days, Tony knows that there is no way in hell anyone could not know she’s his daughter.

“Hmm, yes, I agree. People are so foolish, aren’t they?” Loki says while he traces patterns into Olive’s arm — runes, Tony notices when he cranes his neck a bit to see. They glow bright red for a second before fading away to a more subtle orange. Olive doesn’t make a sound of noticing it at all so Tony relaxes knowing she’s not hurt.

Loki says something in a language Tony doesn’t understand and then, in the blink of an eye, the little girl he knows better than his own reflection changes before him.

The pale green is replaced by tanned skin, remarkably like Tony’s. Her eyes remain the same, but the little silver lines are gone, smooth cheeks in their place, and her hair loses the red tips, now a rich even brown throughout.

It’s Olive, but it’s also not. Exactly like Loki is still Loki with blue skin and red eyes.

Tony decides he doesn’t actually like the transformation.

She’s still beautiful, of course, and she’s still his little girl, but it’s just not really her. Tony’s grown to love her green skin and pretty silver lines and red hair, and he thinks that it takes away from her uniqueness to have them replaced by a mere human camouflage.

He’s about to ask Loki if there’s a way he can change her at will when Loki presses a finger to the runes and says, “Anthony Stark,” and then Olive is back to the skin tone Tony so aptly named her after.

Olive, for her part, is still so interested in Loki that she didn’t even notice either transformation.

“What did you do?” Tony asks.

Just as Strange says, “Do I get the privilege?”

Loki meets his eyes with an indulgent look, and Tony has a flash of understanding at just how deep their connection goes. It makes something insecure within him whimper but he pushes it back. Now is not the time, he tells himself. And besides, Tony is totally working on getting Peter to choose him.

“Stephen Strange,” Loki says, still with a finger pressed to the runes. They light up again, but nothing changes.

“Why didn’t she change again?”

“She did to me,” Strange replies. “It’s a password, of sorts. When Loki said your name you were able to see past her disguise, when he said mine so did I.”

“This is awful,” Drax says. Tony jerks a bit, he’d completely forgotten they were still in the lounge with them. “Change her back, she looks like she’s dead. Look at how pale she is!”

“I don’t like it,” Mantis adds, big eyes tearing up and lips turned down. “What did you do to our Olive?”

“She’s perfectly fine, this is a simple camouflage made to look like human skin,” Loki says, voice placating and with an undertone of bemusement, which Tony is sure goes over both their heads. “Tell me your names and I shall add you to the list of people allowed to see her true form.”

They do, and then let out matching expressions of relief and joy at getting to see Olive’s natural skin tone. Mantis goes so far as to clap in excitement.

“Ooh, I love magic!”

“Much better,” Drax says. “I hope to never see her like that again.”

Tony finds himself smiling at them gratefully. It’s nice to know that his daughter’s loved just the way she is.

He turns back to Loki. “So does it always have to be you doing it or can I? ‘Cause it’ll be a pain to have to call you up whenever we decide someone else gets to see her natural beauty.”

“It’s quite simple,” Loki starts. “You just—”

“Tony? FRIDAY told me you’re up here. I went looking for you in the lab ‘cause I wanted to— Oh. Uh, _what the fuck_?”

Peter stops dead in his tracks, taking in the scene before him with no small amount of shock. Tony supposes seeing a blue Loki for the first time would be a bit of a surprise.

Loki tenses immediately, and Tony catches the moment he considers changing back to his usual skin but Peter finds his voice before that.

“What the fuck happened to my Olive?”

Loki visibly relaxes, hands running through Olive’s hair gently.

Tony feels like his chest is ready to burst. Peter’s been doing this lately, calling her his Olive. Not his daughter, but the intention is close enough, and all Tony wants is to have that picture become reality.

Peter is looking increasingly outraged though, and no matter how hot it actually is, Tony hurries to reassure him.

“Nothing’s wrong, this is just so that she can go out without everyone crying little green alien wolf.” He turns to Loki. “Teach me?”

Loki takes hold of Tony’s index finger and presses it to the runes. “Say his name, and that’s it.”

“Huh. Figured there’d be at least some magic mumbo jumbo involved.” Loki’s unimpressed look has Tony grinning. “Peter Parker.”

Peter sighs audibly in relief. “Thank god. That was awful, don’t ever do that to me again. Jesus. I’m too young to die of a heart attack.”

Tony snorts. “Just a little dye job, no need to get your panties in a twist.”

“You gave Olive a tattoo,” Peter snarks.

His hands clench at his sides and Tony can see the moment he gives up trying to control his impulse and simply walks up to Loki to gather Olive in his arms. He runs his hands over her, protective, checking her up for any change other than the runes, and yup, Tony is so very fucked.

Who knew having Peter act all paternal could be such a turn on?

Peter graces Tony with an utterly unimpressed look. “A warning would be nice next time.”

Tony smiles at him sheepishly. “To be fair, Harry and Draco over there just opened up a portal in my strictly only science allowed lab and there wasn’t much time to tell you.”

Peter looks slightly mollified, but still not happy with the runes if the thumb he keeps running over them is any indication. Olive ignores his concern and talks at him practically uninterrupted, unintelligible babble and her one free arm flying around and pointing at Drax and Mantis and then at Loki, presumably explaining all about the recent excitement.

Peter’s annoyance melts at her presence as it always does.

“The runes will fade within a day,” Loki informs them. Tony drags his eyes with a preternatural effort from his heart’s desire to look at him. He’s back to his pale skin, and Tony can’t help but feel a bit sad about it. “Whenever you wish to let someone see her just press a finger over her wrist and they will activate.”

“See? No tattoos on little babies,” Tony says, grinning at Peter.

He gets an eye roll in response, but then there’s also a small smile forming there so Tony takes it as a win.

“And you talk about us,” Strange mutters pointedly.

Tony ignores him. He thanks them, shoos them away back to their magical sex dungeon, and then excitedly tells Peter that they can take Olive to the park now without excessive gawking.

“You’re still Iron Man,” Peter points out, not unreasonably.

Tony waves a careless hand at that, already on his way to Olive’s room to prepare her day bag. He’s never done this before so isn’t entirely sure what he’s supposed to put in it, but he supposes a bit of everything should do.

“The townsfolk live next to the Compound, Pete, they’re more than over the hero thing. Mostly they’re actually quite annoyed at all the jet noises and explosions.” He throws a few diapers in the bag and then zips it up, an infectious grin on his face. “It’ll be perfect. Shall we?”

Peter looks at him for a moment before smiling in assent. Tony can read the fondness exuding from him plainly, Peter’s not even trying to hide it. His grind brightness impossibly so.

His plan to ‘get his man’ is totally working already.

* * *

A couple of days later, Tony offers to drive Peter into the city to visit his aunt.

Peter pauses mid-track, looks at him dubiously. “You’re serious.”

Tony nods, a genuinely innocent look on his face which he can totally pull off because he really does just want to do something nice.

“Completely serious. Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve been cooped up in here for too long— and no, going out with Olive to the park doesn’t count, and neither does going into the city with the Guardians, that’s more like babysitting,” he says when Peter starts to argue.

Peter chuckles. “You should’ve seen Mantis. I had to rescue her from at least six people trying to convince her to buy their shit.”

Tony’s lips curl in amusement. “See? That’s not relaxing at all. Now come on, let’s get going before Gamora changes her mind about looking after Olive and makes us stay.”

“Wait, now? I thought you meant like, tomorrow or the next day or something. You didn’t tell me it was now.”

Tony starts walking as if he hasn’t heard the slightly panicky note to Peter’s tone.

“Why wait? Besides, I already spoke to your Aunt Hottie and she’s free for lunch today. And I have things to do in the city so we might as well kill two birds with one stone. Now chop chop, spideroo.”

Peter follows him after a momentary falter and Tony puts on his sunglasses and pretends he can’t hear a word of Peter’s grumbling under his breath. He gets behind the wheel with a grin.

Driving is fun — apart from the constant whine of his thigh which is stubbornly ignored. Tony had almost forgotten how much he’d missed it, but he really did. Actually, the past month has been a whole lot of him rediscovering his passion for life. His bots have been thrilled at how much time he’s spent with them in the lab, mind buzzing with ideas.

Peter is quiet for most of the ride, which Tony cheerfully ignores as he keeps up a steady stream of chatter mostly single-handedly. For someone who spent months and months in a room taking turns at keeping up the morale? This is as easy as breathing.

May meets them at some hipster café in Brooklyn Tony’s never set foot in. She greets both of them with hugs, Peter’s lasting longer and culminating with an overall sweep to make sure that he’s still in one piece.

“We have a rotating schedule of people making sure he picks up weight,” Tony says, not entirely joking. Mostly the schedule has revolved around himself, even in that first week they were barely communicating, making sure that FRIDAY always calls Peter into the kitchen when it’s time to eat as well as bribing Groot to offer him random snacks at any given time.

But a schedule sounds much less creepy.

May sends him a grateful smile. “Good. That’s good. So what have you been up to?”

Peter starts out reluctantly but then immediately gets caught in updating May on everything he’s been doing, from catching up with all the newest movies to teaching Olive how to walk.

Peter cheerfully takes a bite of grilled cheese, a small moan testifying his delight.

“I’m this close, May, seriously. She’s already standing up for me, can you believe it?”

Tony stares unabashedly at the sight of Peter’s pride for a full minute, grateful for the sunglasses he’d wisely kept on. And not just to avoid potentially embarrassing emotional reactions either.

Last time he’d set foot in New York was when Pepper had called a press conference to announce his and Peter’s — Spider-Man’s, rather — return thanks to friendly alien superheroes. They’d obviously not let on that said aliens were still on Earth and the ensuing chaos of their simple return had put Tony completely off the thought. It had somehow been much worse than when he’d come back from Afghanistan.

Tony’s unbelievably grateful for hipsters’ lack of attention to anything other than taking perfect Instagram photos of their avocado toasts and kombucha in mason jars for the lack of recognition he’s had so far.

“Isn’t she really small still?” May asks around a bite of her bagel. “Babies only walk when they’re about a year old, honey.”

Peter nods quickly, wiping his mouth after drinking his latte. “Oh yeah, but like, she’s half-alien, right? Gamora says it’s totally normal for her people to develop quicker in their first years. Not that she has much experience with babies at all, and I’m pretty sure she’s mostly just winging most of her little facts, but… So far so true.”

He looks up to Tony for a beat, almost as if expecting him to corroborate his story.

Tony shakes himself out of his dumbstruck moment of fantasizing about things that are still too precarious and nods. “Yup, yeah. She’s four-months-old and totally giving us a run for our money. She takes after her dads— dad. Definitely got my brains,” Tony hurries to cover, hoping fervently that no one caught his slip up. He taps his fingers on his iced tea glass, the condensation making his fingertips wet.

Why oh why is his brain choosing to voice those kinds of thoughts now?

“Oh, please,” Peter scoffs, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You can’t tell me you were doing half the things she is at her age.”

“I was reading by the time I was two,” Tony smugly informs him. He digs into his salad with renewed nonchalance.

“Yeah, so what? Lots of kids do that. She’s literally crawling already and just about to walk, you’re not gonna tell me you did that.”

“Obviously, there’s only so much even my brain can do with a human body. She’s got my brain _and_ Gamora’s alien badassery.”

Peter smirks smugly. “See. She’s the best baby. Just you wait until I get her to say Peter for her first word.”

Tony gasps in fake affront, salad dropping to his plate for added effect. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m already training her.” His lips quirk up with guile. “All those hours you’ve been spending in the lab and she’s with me? Peter. Pe-ter. _Pe ter_. See? There’s no way she won’t be saying my name in, like, a week tops.”

Tony glares at him, or tries to, but in truth he can barely muster the proper energy to fake it because he so desperately wants this picture Peter is playing to be true. Actually, the only thing he’d like to change is Olive calling him Papa instead of Peter. Maybe that can be Tony’s own little project with her.

“I see you two are certainly taking this co-parenting thing seriously,” May says. She takes an innocuous sip of her tea while both Peter and Tony stare at her with matching blushes.

“Uh, what? No, it’s not— Uh. I just help around,” Peter stammers out.

Tony would save him at any other point in time except that, “Oh, would you look at that, it’s getting late. I have that meeting I told you about, remember, Pete? I’ll pick you up when I’m done so we can head back home together. Or you can just stay, it’s fine, just let me know. Cool? Alright, see ya.”

Tony unceremoniously abandons his half-eaten salad, drops enough money to cover about three of their meals, and makes a hasty retreat — pointedly ignoring Peter’s not so subtly hissed “Traitor” — which is not at all motivated by the need to run away from awkward situations.

Obviously not. Tony is becoming a verified expert at being mature.

Tony spends a couple of hours actually in meetings — it wasn’t just an excuse — and then a couple more killing time while he waits for Peter to go back home. By the time Peter sends him a text, it’s only 6:30 p.m. and Tony is completely over New York and the chaos of its everyday life. 

And that’s a depressing thought. Tony’s a city guy, a futurist, a tech genius. When did he start preferring the quiet of the countryside? Getting old sucks, he decides, but he still can’t be bothered to make any effort to change.

Peter is already waiting downstairs when Tony picks him up. He’s gone quiet again, glum almost. His shoulders droop against the car seat and he keeps a steady gaze out of the window the whole time. Tony feels the tension in the air like a knife edging towards his throat. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel with the effort not to offer some kind of comfort.

In the end, Tony’s impulses win against his apprehension and he places a hesitant hand over Peter’s thigh.

The result is almost instantaneous. Peter’s whole frame relaxes as if a valve has been released. He doesn’t turn his head at all, but his hand comes to rest on top of Tony’s with a vice-like grip. Tony keeps steady eyes on the road and tries very hard not to let his relief show too greatly on his face.

Somehow, the drive back home is one of the best moments Tony’s had since being back. Baby steps indeed.

* * *

May calls him that night. Peter is reading Olive a bedtime story and so Tony leaves them to it and skips outside to answer.

“Hey, May. Long time no speak. Miss me already?”

May huffs out a small laugh. “Can he hear you?”

Tony opens the sliding door in the lounge area and heads outside, further than he thinks is necessary just to cover his bases.

“Not anymore. What’s up? This doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

May sighs. “It’s nothing serious it’s just… I’m worried.”

“About Pete?”

“He’s different, Tony. Quiet, withdrawn. There’s barely been any rambling at all since he’s been back. The happiest I saw him was when he was talking about your daughter.”

Tony can’t say why but it sounds as if she used the plural you and it tugs at one of his heartstrings with peculiar strength.

“Of course he’s different, May. He grew up. Also there was probably the whole being abducted by aliens thing. Abductions tend to put a damper on people’s happy-go-lucky spirits.”

“Tony…”

“Right. Sorry. But it’s true.”

He runs a hand through his hair, feet carving an uneven path on the grass as he walks back and forth. His leg is not thanking him at all — it’s actually screaming at him rather loudly to stop abusing it and go take a hot bath or something. Tony ignores it.

“He’s not the same kid anymore, May. He’s _not_ a kid. Shit happened and… You should’ve seen me after I came back from Afghanistan. Seriously. Or not because now you’d probably be hell-bent on keeping me away from Peter.”

“I saw enough on TV, I think,” she quips dryly.

“And that was probably not the half of it.”He pauses, feet stopping with him. His leg gives out a rather painful throb and Tony bends to the side a bit, massaging it idly while he thinks of how to best put his thoughts into words.“We went through a lot, May,” he settles for, words slow and cautious. “He stopped being that rambling kid when they zapped us up into an alien slave ship.”

May sucks in a sharp breath. Tony feels bad for bringing it up but it couldn’t be helped. Peter is different, has been different for quite a while, and Tony has too. Out of all their problems, a little more silence is the least of Tony’s concerns.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I get it,” May says, sounding pained and resigned. “But he’s alright? Despite the lack of cheerful rambling and the serious frowns?”

“He’s…”

Tony thinks of sleepless nights which can only be curbed by his presence, thinks of nightmares and panicked looks and a probably unhealthy relationship to food. Thinks of looks of yearning and lo— something more towards a man thirty years older than him.

Says, “As well as can be expected, I think. But I’m trying my best to make him happier.”

He wishes he could take it back immediately. Too raw, too open, too vulnerable. Too _telling_. But the words are out and they’re nothing but the honest truth, so Tony can only hope that May doesn’t hate him for it.

She pauses, long enough for Tony to wonder if this is when his heart will finally give up, fingers obsessively kneading his broken muscles. When May finally speaks, her voice is soft and heavy with meaning.

“I’m glad he’s got you to look out for him.”

Tony bites his lip hard, nods harshly while he processes the amount of relief he feels at her unspoken approval. She can’t see it, obviously, so then he says, “Thank you. I… Thanks, May. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can do.” Her voice warms with an invisible smile. “Next time you come visit bring your kid. I want to meet her properly.” And this time it’s definitely not his imagination of a plural you.

Tony’s lips curl into a foolish smile. “Will do, Grandma Hottie.” He hangs up with her joyous laugh still ringing in his ears.

* * *

Tony, for once in his life, doesn’t throw a gift at someone and hope for the best. He’s actually even put serious thought into this — unlike a certain unmentionable pink monstrosity of a rabbit which Pepper will never let him live down.

No, Tony is trying very hard at this mature thing and so, instead of just springing a gift on his victim, he politely informs them about it first.

“I found your grandfather.”

Quill stops with a fork full of food halfway into his mouth. At least half the grains of rice splatter onto his plate and adjacent areas— i.e. the couch Pepper insists is designer and will he please stop ruining it with oil stains? — with the force of his jerk.

Tony takes in his open-mouthed shock, his pale features, the slight fear in his eyes.

Well, slight correction. Tony _tried_ to be better at this gift-giving business; he might still have to make some adjustments.

Quill drops the fork back onto his plate with a loud clatter. The whole lounge area goes quiet after that, all eyes on the scene unfolding. The kitchen is too small for Avengers plus Guardians, so when they have meals together everyone kind of just finds a spot to sit in and does their best to hold a plate on their laps. Some are decidedly more successful than others at not making a mess.

Tony ignores them and goes back to digging into his food. Bucky, in his continuous attempts at refining his culinary skills with single-minded determination, made fried rice for lunch. Tony is seriously impressed at the results, he only remembers eating something this good in Bangkok.

“You— uh… My grandpa?”

Tony looks back up at Quill’s question, is met with an almost heartbreakingly lost look. Dammit, this is gearing up to be one of those emotional conversations he is still allergic to. He should’ve just gone with springing the old man on him and be done with it.

He affects a nonchalant air and says, “Yup. Old Grandpa George is still up and running, no old timers’ disease or anything. Still remembers your scrawny ass. I sent a plane out to Missouri to fetch him, he should be here in a couple of hours.”

The look he receives tells him that a couple of hours is still not enough time to prepare for such a gift.

Well. Tony tried. Honestly, there’s only so much that can be expected of him.

“You— What? How—”

“How’d I find him or how did I tell him? ‘Cause the first one was ridiculously easy, just had FRIDAY look into your birth certificate and from there it was just a few steps into finding your relatives. Uh, sorry but he’s kind of it, unless you count the distant aunts and uncles?” He tilts his head a bit, already prepared to ask FRIDAY to get on it. “Did you want me to fly those in as well? ‘Cause I could, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Quill shakes his head, awestruck expression still marring his features. Tony takes another bite of his food and busies himself for a while.

Annoyingly, he can still feel everyone’s eyes on him. This is not the type of thing he enjoys being the center of attention for.

“How’d he take it?” Quill asks hesitantly.

Tony meets his eyes and offers him a sympathetic look. “He’s ecstatic. Told me he always knew you’d been abducted by aliens. Apparently he’d been trying to get in touch with the Avengers for years to try to see if Thor could help him find you.” Peter’s cautious look is replaced by a hesitantly blooming smile. “Yeah, apparently crazy stubborn runs in the family,” Tony quips.

Quill huffs out a laugh which seems to break the tension around the room and everyone joins in with questions of their own.

“Is it just me or is Tony Stark being a big softy at heart the best-kept secret of the Avengers?” Sam pipes up after the shower of questions and comments calms down.

Tony flips him off. “You should really hang your wings and try for a comedian, Wilson. I hear they’re looking for new talent up in the local bar.”

He walks off to the kitchen to drop his plate in the dishwasher and makes his way to Vision when he returns.

“Now hand me my cutie pie, Vis, it’s daddy-daughter time in the lab.”

Olive happily jumps into Tony’s arms with a wave at Vision and a smile that’s already got four teeth in it.

“Don’t let her get near DUM-E’s smoothies again,” Peter pipes up from his spot on the floor next to Rocket and Nebula. “I seriously don’t want a repeat of last week’s vomit catastrophe.”

“Okay, one, that totally wasn’t my fault, you’re the one that taught her to walk, so that’s definitely on you.” Peter’s eyes narrow and he looks like he wants to complain but Tony doesn’t let him. “And two, being covered in green vomit was a good look on you. Wasn’t it, Ollie poo?”

Olive giggles, to which Peter responds with a loud “Hey!” of protest.

Tony leaves with a cheerful wave goodbye and a grin stuck to his face.

“Call me up when Grandpa Quill gets here, I wanna take pictures of Quill crying.”

* * *

The Guardians leave in early September.

“Seriously, dude, staying in one place for too long gives me hives,” Quill had said, an exaggerated shudder running through his body.

Tony had simply rolled his eyes in response but he’d thanked them as sincerely as he could, packed them off with a bunch of gems and tech as repayment for their loans, and told them in no uncertain terms that they were to be back regularly.

“Especially you, green bean. Ollie’s gonna miss you.”

He doesn’t say that Olive’s not the only one who’s going to miss her but he doesn’t need to. The look she gives him tells him she knows enough, and her soft smile in response shows just how much the same will be true for her.

Tony doesn’t know how he became so attached — except he does, really. Gamora became his anchor when Peter was gone, became his friend, his daughter’s mother. Of course he grew to find her presence in his life almost indispensable. But he’s learning to be better at letting things go, trying to handle the anxiety of watching her leave into the far corners of the galaxy. Tamara will be all proud and everything.

Peter gives her a hug. Gamora says something to him which Tony doesn’t catch but has his curiosity burning. When it’s his turn, Tony holds her for just a little bit longer, mostly in an effort not to lose his cool.

“Be safe. And come back.” He pulls back, puts on his sunglasses casually. “Alright then, off you go, dream team. Enjoy your new toys and don’t forget to bring me lots of goodies when you come back.”

Gamora gives him a fond look, picks Olive up from Nebula’s reluctant arms, and showers her with kisses and a long hug before depositing her safely into Tony’s arms.

“I’ll miss you three,” she says, surprisingly earnest. Olive curls into Tony’s shoulder and Gamora runs a hand through her hair with a small smile. Her eyes meet Tony’s even through the sunglasses and hold his gaze for a significant beat. “Try to get some sense into that stubborn head of yours will you? Things better be back to normal when I come back.”

Tony puts on his best air of nonchalance. He drops an absent kiss to Olive’s head. “You know me, nothing’s ever really normal.” At her unamused look, he adds, “I’m working on it,” and is rewarded with a pleased quirk of her lips.

The rest of the Guardians wave their goodbyes and they all step onboard the Benatar. Tony holds on to Olive and tries very hard not to tell FRIDAY to shoot the ship down so they have to stay.

He notices Peter take a step closer to him peripherally while his eyes remain steadfastly on the Benatar, now with its engines on and ready to fly. Quill gives them a two-fingered salute and Mantis waves at them cheerfully. The rest offer them pleasant smiles through the glass panel before they’re off.

Peter takes a hold of Tony’s hand, comforting and warm and _here_. Still here.

“She’ll be fine,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “They all will.”

Tony nods sharply. “Of course. Yeah, of course they will.”

Everything is fine. Perfectly fine. It’s not anyone’s problem but Tony’s that ever since some asshole decided to drop him into a 117,38 square feet windowless room he’s been struggling more than usual with not having everyone he cares about under the same roof where he can see they’re safe and protect them in case something happens.

So maybe he still has something to work through with his therapist. That’s what he pays her for anyways.

Olive lifts her head up from Tony’s shoulder when the Benatar takes off.

“Ma?”

Tony very nearly tears up right there but he inhales quietly through his nose, exhales through his mouth. Puts on what he hopes is a comforting smile and not a shaky grimace.

“Mama’s going home now, baby, remember? Just you and Daddy and Papa now.”

He still gets all sorts of butterflies in unscientific places when he calls Peter that. Is still shocked that he’s allowed to.

Peter, true to his word, had tried very hard to make Olive say his name first. Tony, in a show of pure genius, had joined in and casually said, “Peter’s a mouthful for a first word. How about Papa? Can you say that baby girl? Papa?” And of course, genius daughter just like her dad, she’d come through.

The look on Peter’s face had been something to behold. Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. That night they had curled up together in bed and spoken for hours, softly traded whispers and tender words. They hadn’t kissed — still haven’t — and hadn’t talked about their relationship either, but on one thing they could openly agree: Olive was the most important thing and they would do their damndest to make sure she grows up happy and loved.

Peter drops a kiss to Olive’s forehead when she turns to look at him as if to make sure he’s staying.

“I’m here, sweet pea. And your Mama will come back. She has to go be a badass and save the galaxy, but she’ll come back to visit us,” Peter says softly.

Olive’s brows draw in a little furrow and Tony’s heart clenches, dreading. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she starts crying and demanding her mother. He might just very well join her in desperation. But Olive turns back to the Benatar, waves her little hand, says “Bye-bye,” and Tony breathes out a sigh of relief.

Peter squeezes Tony’s hand once, offers him a comforting smile, and Tony feels something in him start mending. He’ll be alright. It’ll take time, but he’ll be okay.

* * *

Later that night, Olive lying asleep in between them on their bed — and doesn’t that one little pronoun make a giddy part of him soar with joy? — Tony decides that he obviously hasn’t had enough of emotional minefields for the day.

“So when are you going back to school?” He affects a casual tone to his voice, fingers digging lazily into his thigh as he massages the knots out of the day.

Peter goes dangerously still next to him. Tony has got his left arm bent under his head and so can only see some of him from the corner of his eye, but the change in the air is enough to help him form a clear picture.

Peter eventually asks, voice tense, “Why?”

Tony shrugs his right shoulder nonchalantly. “Just curious. You were doing quite well before, I thought you might want to get back at some point.”

Peter is quiet for a beat, tension radiating from him. “The semester’s already started,” he settles for.

He doesn’t sound happy to be having this conversation at all, which Tony had known beforehand, of course, having received several more phone calls from a desperate May trying to figure out how to convince Peter to get back to his life instead of being cooped up in the Compound.

The problem — or part of it — had been that Tony went into a panic every time he thought of Peter going back to live in the city, so he hadn’t exactly been much help.

Apparently, being forced to let go of one person means he has to at least try to do the same for the other — even if that other has sometimes become as essential as air.

“Yeah, but you’re Peter Parker,” Tony says with a teasing smile. He chances a glance at Peter, finds a frown marring his features, and drops his eyes back to the ceiling as if nothing special is happening. “I did spend a good portion of my days giving you all those painfully remembered and detailed MIT-level lectures, you could put that to use. And I remember you scoring almost perfectly in all those pop quizzes.”

Peter makes a sound which could either mean amusement or the exact opposite. Tony decides not to give it any importance and keeps at his task of digging the knots out of his thigh. He lets out an involuntary groan of pain at one particular sore spot and sees Peter shuffling with an annoyed huff and then circling around Olive to come sit by Tony’s feet.

Peter takes Tony’s right leg in his hand — gently, always so careful — and swats aways Tony’s hands with almost vicious annoyance.

“You’re always too rough. Cream?”

Tony bites his lip to contain a smile and digs into his bedside drawer to find the medicine.

Peter folds Tony’s boxers all the way up to his hip — and no, definitely not something that’s so staggeringly intimate that Tony has to keep control of his body with preternatural strength, not at all —, applies a small amount of the ointment, and starts massaging it with single-minded focus.

Tony joins his right arm to his left under his head in an effort not to let them loose and do what he desperately wants — to pull Peter up on top of him and kiss the living hell out of him. But no, Tony is being very diligent in this whole taking baby steps thing, and Peter has to be the one to make that jump.

It’s a certain level of torture, nonetheless. Having Peter’s hands on him, warm and precise and just on the bad side of tempting. The touch is devastatingly intimate.

The first time Gamora had given him the medicine she’d applied it to Tony’s still very mangled thigh and showed him how to do it. She’d been compassionate but methodical, and Tony trusted her with his life, had had her hands over him in more intimate places, so he didn’t have a problem letting her do it. Hadn’t had a problem letting her do it since.

The first time Peter had offered, back when they were still in the ship, Tony had hesitated for a breath before numbly nodding. It was different to Gamora, in ways that he couldn’t properly explain at the time. Probably because Gamora did it as if it wasn’t a big deal at all, but Peter did it as if his one mission in life was to take care of Tony.

It was different, and yet they are the only two people that Tony has ever let touch his leg — or even bother answering questions honestly without a witty quip and a quick dismissal. Bucky might be the only exception Tony’s willing to make, but Bucky still has trouble talking to Tony without falling into a pit of guilt and so he’s never given Tony more than an understanding look.

It’s just a leg, he tells himself often. Just one thigh with an ugly hole in it. The logical part of him agrees, the rest of him not so much. He does his best to not let his limp affect him, still swaggers around like he owns the place — which he does, conveniently —, armors himself with jokes and witticism, but something small and vulnerable in him hurts at not being able to do things with the same ease as before, at living with another constant ache.

Tony hasn’t even put on the Iron Man suit since he’s been back, and only part of it is because the mere thought of doing so sends him into flashbacks of the last time he had the nanites covering his body and then was forced to give them up.

Peter hits a particularly sore spot and Tony can’t contain his wince.

“Sorry,” Peter says, fingers gentling in apology. “It’s better, though, isn’t it? The medicine is really working.”

Peter lets his fingers drag slowly over the muscles. Tonys’ eyes follow him with more attention than he usually tries to give his thigh these days.

It is better. The burned flesh has been replaced by pink skin, and the hole is only about one inch deep instead of the good four it was originally. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much, although he still needs regular massages and to not put so much strain on it. He should probably rely on a cane or something, but Tony had sent Peter a _look_ the first time he suggested it and no one had brought it up since.

It will never win him sexiest legs competitions again, but it is objectively better.

Tony nods. “Those Xandarians are geniuses.”

Peter spares him a look, lips quirking with amusement. “That’s something coming from you.”

Tony chuckles, chest feeling lighter. “I’m capable of giving credit where credit is due.”

“Sure.” Peter’s whole expression screams disagreement but Tony knows he’s only teasing so he merely pulls a face in response. Peter smiles, but then the corners of his lips turn down a bit. “It won’t become perfect,” he says quietly, hesitantly almost. “You know that, right? The muscle’s already grown a lot but…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.”

It’s not completely fine, but it’s not the end of the world either. He can live with some discomfort. And his vanity could probably use the tone down.

Peter sends him a look which conveys how much regard he puts into Tony’s words and then lets out a sigh. “It’s certainly not ideal, but we can work with it.”

“I remember you making a similar comment once,” Tony says without thinking, then immediately ponders the feasibility of death if he throws himself off the bed. Practically null, sadly.

Peter pauses, Tony’s thigh hanging mid-air, tilts his head to the side in thought. His mouth forms a small “Oh,” before he huffs out a short laugh. “Sure. And I was right then, too.”

Tony feels the relief flowing out of his body with the strength of a tsunami. “Yeah, yeah, you’re always right, Parker, don’t rub it in, it doesn’t suit you. There’s only room for one big-headed genius in this place even with the upgraded square footage.”

Peter’s lips twitch with contained laughter. He finishes his massage, pulls Tony’s boxers back down to mockingly modest levels, and taps his thigh in an ‘all done’ gesture just below the hole.

“Thanks.” Tony sends him a small smile, proud of himself for not letting the flow of words that wanted to follow his gratitude come rushing out.

On impulse, he opens his arms in a welcoming gesture and tilts his head, waiting.

For a beat, Peter simply looks a him, expression shuttered, and Tony thinks that he’s about to be painfully rejected. But then Peter folds himself onto Tony’s chest, mindful of the bad leg, and Tony feels the fist constricting his chest loosen mercifully.

He trails his fingers over Peter’s back idly, a remnant of past times where the gesture was automatic. It feels like so long ago now. Sure, they’ve been sleeping next to each other and snuggling close at night, but it’s never been like this. It’s always been careful, measured, unsure. Only enough so that it doesn’t overwhelm, doesn’t reveal too much.

This is not like that at all.

Peter relaxes into his chest with a soft sigh, his body going almost boneless in its contentment. Tony kisses the top of his head without thinking, another automatic act from before.

Funny, he thinks with near hysteria, _before_ used to mean something different in their little room than it does now. 

Peter reacts by dropping a kiss of his own to Tony’s chest, and that just about melts the last fears off of his heart and has him wrapping his arms around Peter more firmly, fingers dropping their ministrations in favor of holding Peter tight.

“I missed this,” Peter says, voice purposefully muffled into Tony’s chest.

It has Tony’s heart hammering away in his chest and he knows that Peter can hear it. Hell, the way it’s going he probably could even without the spider powers.

“Me too, Pete. Me too.”

He can’t seem to find any other words to say, so instead just hugs Peter tighter, drops another kiss to his head, this one entirely purposeful and longer lasting, and hopes that this is them going in the right direction.

“I don’t really wanna go back to school,” Peter says after a long moment of silence. Tony starts drawing idle patterns on his back again, aware of the calming effect it has on Peter while he waits him out. Eventually, Peter continues. “That’s not— I do, actually, I’ve always wanted to get a degree and learn all kinds of things. I love it, you know? Just, anything science, I really love it.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. Of course you do.” He gives a little nod, his chin bumping into Tony’s ribs. “It’s just… Everything is different, you know?”

“All too well.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs out.

He drops a hand onto Olive’s hair, curling his fingers through the soft strands. Tony can’t see his face but he knows the look of love he’d find there. Olive doesn’t even stir, forever sleeping like the dead.

“My friends are starting jobs already,” he says, as if it’s some major confession. Which, yeah, Tony gets it.

“Is that why you haven’t seen them?”

“I have. I saw them just last week.”

Tony snorts despite himself. “For what? Fifteen minutes before you ran off? Don’t lie to me, Pete, I got three different calls that day. I don’t even know how your little friends got my number.”

Peter lets out a pained groan. “They didn’t.”

“Oh, trust me, I very much wish they hadn’t. That was two too many painful conversations for me to handle,” Tony says, biting his lower lip to hold in a smile even though Peter’s face is still steadfastly aimed at Tony’s chest. “The only one I’m not allowed to complain about is May and that’s because she’d have my hide otherwise.”

“Oh my god, kill me now.”

“I’m rather fond of you, so I think we’ll leave that on hold for now.”

Peter finally lifts up his head, face all disgruntled. “I hate everyone.”

Tony nods sensibly. “Of course. Misanthropy is the natural reaction to people caring about you enough to be worried, it happens to the best of us.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Shut up, you.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, then immediately quiets down when Olive’s leg jerks out in response. “Oops.”

Neither he nor Peter suggest moving her to her bedroom. Not tonight. Tony’s heart is still aching at watching Gamora & Co. leave, he can’t bear to leave his baby alone.

Peter drops his head back down onto Tony’s chest, fingers offering Olive a soothing caress before coming up to rest by his side, his whole body practically curled up into Tony now.

“It’s just weird, you know? Them already being done with school and starting new jobs and… It feels wrong,” he says, voice terribly quiet and lost. It tugs at Tony’s heartstrings and, feeling a bit helpless, he resumes running his barely-there fingertips up and down Peter’s back. “We were stuck for a year and a half and everything here just kept going, everyone just kept on living. We didn’t even go back in time like Gamora. It’s just… it doesn’t fit. Or— I don’t fit. I just don’t fit anymore.”

Tony wishes Peter would look up so he’d have some read on him besides body language, but he supposes this will have to do.

He twists his lips this side and that, considers what to say for a moment. Peter starts scratching his nails on Tony’s skin, not nearly enough to bother, just something Peter does when he’s feeling incredibly vulnerable.

“This might be the worst thing to say but… I’ve always sucked at giving pep talks so you’ll have to forgive me beforehand,” Tony starts. Peter makes a small sound which Tony chooses to interpret as a huff of laughter. “Anyways. Here goes, you ready? Okay, good. So.”

“You getting there at some point his century?”

Tony makes an affronted sound. “Excuse you, you ungrateful smart-ass. Some of us are trying not to screw things up here.”

“Proceed.” Peter’s tone purposefully fails to hide his mirth but Tony ignores him.

“Thank you,” he says primly. He snorts in amusement and gives Peter’s head another kiss. “What I was going to say before being so rudely interrupted was… You’ve never fit in, Pete.”

Peter makes a sound in outrage, lifts his head up and opens his mouth to protest, but Tony steamrolls him.

“Yeah, yeah, but listen. You haven’t. You’ve always been the odd one out, even in that nerd high school of yours. And that’s fine, Peter. Trust me. Speaking as someone who’s been the odd one out for more than twice your life — and let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, actually, I don’t need any more old man jokes.” He flashes Peter with a smirk, then runs a hand down Peter’s flank, expression turning more tender. “But what I mean is that that’s perfectly fine. Normal is boring and so overrated. You went to freaking _space_ , Pete.”

Peter’s lips curl in a moue. “Not exactly voluntarily.”

“Definitely not voluntarily. But you did anyways. We’ve been to six fucking different planets, something even I’ve never thought possible in my lifetime. You have a kid,” he says, softer, open, finally acknowledging it out loud. “You’re a dad, Pete.”

Peter looks up almost fearfully. “Yeah? ‘Cause I know you let her call me Papa but—”

“I don’t let her call you anything, Pete,” Tony says forcefully. “She’s yours too. Has been since the day she was born. I know you felt it too.”

Peter nods mutely, his lower lip suffering from an intense determination not to show too great an emotion. “She’s pretty awesome.”

“She’s the best kid. And you’re a pretty awesome dad yourself.”

Tony breathes out softly, brings up a cautious hand to Peter’s cheek. Peter doesn’t pull away, so Tony traces his fingertips gingerly over Peter’s cheekbones, memorizes every inch of him, from his long eyelashes to his soft brown eyes to his increasingly shallow breathing.

“Everyone moved on here on Earth, Pete, but so did you. Do you not get that? None of them have experienced half the things you have.” Tony drops his fingers, pulls back the last layers of his mask, and willingly displays his heart for Peter to see. “You don’t have to fit with them, Peter. But, for what it’s worth, you do fit here, with us.”

With me, he doesn’t say, but it’s as if he’d shouted it from the top of the old Avenger’s Tower.

Peter kisses him before Tony can even process what’s happening. Tony’s sound of surprise is caught in between Peter’s lips, soft and passionate and demanding. Tony kisses back automatically, hands cupping Peter’s cheeks, tongue teasing and exploring.

It’s a lot. It’s too much, almost, and Tony has been waiting for this, hoping, for so long now that his body feels like it’s about to explode with the emotions a single kiss evokes in him. But he doesn’t explode, which is definitely for the best, and he has the wherewithal to pull back before things get too heated. Barely, but he still pats himself on the back for it.

Peter’s cheeks are flushed, his lips pouty and wet and utterly kissable. Tony gives in just one more time. Just a soft kiss that’s barely got any tongue in it. Then he pulls back again. For good this time, he tells himself.

“I really want to keep on kissing you but then I’m going to want to do more than just kiss and we have a little six-month-old sharing the bed with us tonight.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, his blush deepens. He looks absolutely delectable and Tony curses himself and his emotional stuntedness for needing their daughter in the room tonight.

Maybe if he puts her down in her own bed just for a bit— No. Bad dad, definitely bad dad behavior.

“Shit. I… Uh, forgot? Shit.” He ducks his head down, forehead resting on Tony’s sternum. “I’m a bad dad,” he moans painfully.

Tony runs his fingers methodically up and down Peter’s flanks in an effort to regain some control over his body. He sucks in some deep breaths, exhales through his mouth, vehemently tries not to focus on the fact that he can feel every line of Peter’s body against his own and— Nope. Not going there.

But it’s hot as fuck that Peter forgot they weren’t exactly alone because he was so into it. It’s not great, probably, but it’s undeniably hot.

Tony has a problem.

He clears his throat. “Not a bad dad. Or if you are then so am I ‘cause believe me, it took me a minute there to get my brain to start working again. That was… uh. Yeah. Something.”

Tony focuses his eyes on the very interesting grey wall but when Peter lifts up his head it’s as if he’s drawn to him without a choice. Peter is still blushing but there’s a slow smirk building in his lips, smug and extremely self-satisfied which makes Tony want to kiss it off of him.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t. It’s a near thing but, once in a blue moon, he does have some self-control.

“That good, huh? Did I leave the great Tony Stark speechless?”

Tony sniffs in superiority. “Please. I’ve gotten plenty of mind-blowing kisses in my time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Definitely. From lots of people. From you, even.”

Peter’s smirk grows. “Plenty, you say? From little old me? I’m flattered.”

Tony swats his butt playfully. “Yeah, yeah, you’re getting too cocky for my liking.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Stark, I thought I was just cocky enough.” And then — because Peter can be a complete asshole as well as a sadistic tease — he sinuously moves his body against Tony’s.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath through his clenched teeth. His hands hold Peter’s hips firmly in place, eyes narrowing. “You’re the worst. Seriously, Pete, the fucking worst.”

Tony’s dick twitches, obviously disagreeing. Tony ignores it.

Peter’s smirk widens into a full-on grin and it looks like he’s going to say something else, maybe have another go at Tony’s restraint, before his expression shifts and his lips curve into a tender smile.

“I missed you, Tony. I really did.”

Peter’s expression is completely open, eyes wide and earnest, not a single curtain left closed. He’s keeping himself up with one hand on the bed and the other right over Tony’s heart, but that one is not holding any weight at all. He applies some pressure on it at his words, though, and it feels like a subconscious gesture, him emphasizing his meaning.

Tony curls his left hand on top of his, caging Peter’s hand onto his heart. “I missed you too, Pete. I—”

He stops, suddenly unsure. He wants to pour his heart out, but at the same time he really doesn’t think the right time for that is when their daughter is sleeping right beside them. Because honestly, if Tony tells Peter how he feels, if he gets to hear him say it back, he will not be able to stop himself from devouring Peter’s body in the aftermath. He just won’t. Tony is perfectly aware of his limitations as a man.

So Tony raises his other hand to cup Peter’s face and presses the most tender kiss he’s probably ever given anyone on his soft lips.

“Stay? With me. Not just now, but… Stay?”

Peter’s eyes take on a profoundly complex look before he leans down, forehead resting on Tony’s. “Yeah. As long as you’ll have me.”

Tony feels Peter’s warm breath touching his lips and his left hand moves from his heart to wrap around Peter.

“That’ll be forever then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Tony has a stupid grin on his face and he can literally feel Peter’s smile on his cheek. They fall asleep just like that.

* * *

The conversation about going back to school gets postponed for a few days but Tony doesn’t let Peter ignore the topic. Two can play at the stubborn game, and Tony is most likely to win when it comes to making sure Peter’s wellbeing comes first.

Unlike the first conversation, this one culminates in Peter shouting at Tony in the middle of the lab.

“Because I don’t fucking want to move into the city without you!”

His eyes have a wildness to them, like he’s feeling trapped and exposed, and Tony would feel bad about pushing, he would, except that right now he really doesn’t because this is important and he’ll be damned if he lets Peter jeopardize his future.

“It’s only an hour—”

“I can’t, Tony. I fucking can’t stand the thought of not sleeping in the same room as you. Hell, I barely slept that first week back, and I know for a fact you got barely any more sleep than I did,” Peter says, nostrils flaring with anger. He crosses his arms over his chest, posture defiant, and adds, “So no, I’m not going back to NYU and you can just fucking drop it already.”

Tony looks at him for a long moment, considering, anger simmering down to nothing.

He hadn’t known this was the problem, but really, he should have figured it out. The first day they were back and May suggested Peter go home his eyes had gone wild with panic. Ever since, he steadfastly refuses to spend the night in the city, coming up with all sorts of excuses at first until, finally, he’d just given up and said, “I don’t want to, so now shut up about it”.

Much like he’s saying now.

And Tony, well, he can’t say he’s exactly innocent in this. Every time Peter refuses to sleep anywhere but at the Compound — anywhere but their bed — Tony’s heart breathes a sigh of relief so deep he actually feels a bit ashamed of himself.

But it’s a problem. He knows it’s a problem, has been working on it with his therapist, and is pretty sure that Peter has been doing the same with his, but it’s not really changing the fact that they can’t sleep without the other.

Tony doesn’t know if they ever will. Maybe, one day in the future when they’re a little bit less messed up. But that’s not today or anytime soon.

So Tony nods, pulls out his phone, and sends a message to his realtor.

“Alright. That’s not a problem, we’ll just move with you.”

He’s already thinking of things that’ll have to change, but, honestly, it won’t be that many.

He likes to think he’s indispensable — good for the ego and all that — but the past year and a half have proven that he’s not. Pepper has done just fine with SI without him, the Avengers have managed perfectly well too. Hell, he hasn’t even put on his suit since he’s been back, so it’s not like he’s been much part of the team lately except with the newest set of inventions he’s been working on in the lab — getting some of that alien tech had definitely been a godsend.

So, truthfully, it’s not that big of a step at all. He might even be persuaded to say he misses the city — it’d be a lie, but there are lots of things he’ll say for Peter’s benefit.

“I’m sorry, you’ll what?”

Tony looks up from his phone where he’d gotten distracted searching for listings to see what the options are. It has to be close to NYU but not too close so that Tony’s flooded with college students every time he steps out of the house.

Too bad he sold off the tower when he’d moved all Avengers business to the Compound. Maybe he could buy it back? He’ll get Randall to look into it.

He should probably get Peter’s opinion on the matter too.

“Tony?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, we’ll just move back. I just sent Randall a text to look for a property for us. Do you have any specific requests? Ideal locations?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, already typing away another message when he decides that he really doesn’t want to be too close to the chaos, especially because of Olive. And definitely at least four bedrooms, he adds. They’ll need to turn one into a workshop. Maybe get a five bedroom and convert two of them into one big lab?

He sends that idea too before his phone is pulled out of his grip by thieving hands.

“Hey!”

“Focus. What’s this about moving to New York? You can’t move to New York, everything is here at the Compound. What about the Avengers and your labs and stuff?”

Tony waves a careless hand at him, leaning back on his worktable.

He feels incredibly lighter. He supposes that’s what making decisions does to a person’s mental health. He hadn’t even realized this whole stress with Peter’s future had been taking such a toll on him.

“The labs will still be here and I’m kind of out of commission from the Avengers for the time being.” He points helpfully at his leg but Peter doesn’t seem convinced. Tony pulls him closer by his belt hoops until their lower bodies are touching. “You won’t change my mind, Spidey. I’m moving to the city, Olive’s going to grow up a city girl as is only right, and you’re going back to school to get all the degrees your heart desires.”

“Tony…”

Tony shrugs casually. “Family means nobody gets left behind. One for all and all for one. Or am I mixing my movie references?”

Peter chuckles weakly. “Alzheimer’s. That’s how it starts.”

Tony pulls him into a kiss, soft and tender and all the other big words they haven’t said yet. But present, undeniably present.

“Say yes.”

Peter hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Now say yes and thank you, Tony.”

That earns him another chuckle, this one fond and accompanied by a small eye roll.

“Alright.” Peter kisses his again, touches a thumb to Tony’s cheeks almost reverently. It makes Tony’s heart try its best shot at being a gymnast. “Thank you.”

* * *

They compromise on a townhouse in the Upper East side, close enough to walk to the park and not too long a commute to NYU. The Tony from a couple of decades ago would scoff loudly and obnoxiously at the choice, but it turns out age changes a person, after all.

They move within a week of their talk. They have to rush the timeline because of Peter’s school, something Tony definitely won’t compromise on. Tony’s affairs are depressingly easy to get in order and the move goes smoother than expected. Of course, he pays people to do all the actual work, but, details.

Surprisingly, Tony feels none of the nervous jitters at the prospect of moving in with Peter officially.

Peter enrolls in NYU, a few weeks later into the semester, yes, but there are some advantages to knowing Tony Stark. Not that Tony will ever let Peter know that he pulled some strings to facilitate things along. Ever.

May comes over to see the house, compliments them on their taste — “I hired a designer, May,” Tony said, to which she merely rolled her eyes and countered, “Good taste in designer then.” She coos over Olive as per usual, has a very long conversation with Peter that has Tony’s curiosity jumping through the roof but he manages not to quell, and then tells them that they now have no excuses to not let her see her granddaughter as often.

It’s weird. Tony has so far been awfully adept at escaping most of the big talks about him and Peter, but there’s only so much he can pretend is completely normal when he’s literally moved in with Peter before they even had a proper talk about their feelings.

They both know what they mean to each other, but that’s not the point. Tony has pretty much screwed this whole thing from the beginning and he wants to get it right now.

But the family and friends things is, unfortunately, a thing they must get used to. They’re no longer in their little room where they could pretend the cameras weren’t watching and it was just them in their bubble.

Sometimes — and he can barely believe this is true — he wishes they still were. Some things were just less complicated.

Pepper and Rhodey visit next. Then MJ and Ned. Then the rest of the Avengers, in pairs and trios, cheerfully walking into their house as if it’s theirs. Between them and Peter’s first week of class, they haven’t had a proper moment to themselves.

Today Tony has put his foot down and straight up had FRIDAY send a group message to all their well-meaning friends and family that they “are not available for any social activity whatsoever. By the way, can one of you take Olive for the night, thanks.” As expected they all reply in the affirmative.

Tony goes with Pepper, mostly because he trusts her with his life, and also Rhodey will be there with War Machine on standby if anything happens. He possibly, maybe, also texts Natasha and Bucky and asks them to be on the lookout around the building. Just in case. No unreasonable paranoia whatsoever.

Bucky is his new favorite person ever since Tony told them that he and Peter were getting a house in the city and Steve had gone all, “What? But I thought— You said you weren’t together, didn’t you?”

Bucky had quirked an eyebrow at him, said, “They’ve literally been sleeping together every single night apart from their first week back, Stevie. They’re raising a child together,” and then accompanied that by a look that said ‘my friend is so dumb’.

Tony had started building him new features for his arm that same day.

“We’re going on a date,” Tony announces when Peter comes into the kitchen for breakfast, Olive in tow. She takes wobbly steps towards Tony, who picks her up, gives her a kiss on the cheek and a bright grin. “Hey, Ollie poo. Did you sleep well?”

“Papa.”

“Yeah, papa got you all ready for the day, huh? Look at you all pretty with the new overalls Aunt Pepper got you. Let’s get you something to eat, alright?”

He puts her on the highchair at the island, sets a plate of cut-up fruit in front of her he’d already prepared, and knows that they won’t be distracted by her because once Olive has food in front of her that’s all she focuses on. Remarkably like Peter.

“A date,” Peter says, insultingly deadpan.

Tony ignores his attitude, cheerfully passing him a mug of coffee and a plate with a still-warm omelet and some fresh fruit. Tony’s already had his smoothie, so he settles for leaning across from Peter, forearms resting on the marble countertop, placid smile in place.

“A date. As in, you and me, out to dinner to a nice place, no kid, no distractions. Maybe even a goodnight kiss if I’m lucky.”

Tony grins cheekily. He wants it though, desperately almost. He really wants to make this relationship work, and for that he’s planning on pulling out all the stops.

“You always get a kiss,” Peter says, tone laced with affection.

“Obviously, who could resist me?” Tony wiggles his eyebrows playfully and is rewarded with Peter smirking around his omelet.

The thing is, though, that they haven’t progressed from kissing yet. It’s been two weeks. And yes, two weeks is not a lot of times in the grand scheme of things, but Tony is close to climbing up the walls with the need to get Peter naked.

The worst part is, it’s not even like he can blame anyone but himself. Tony’s the one who decided — for reasons he now struggles to bring to mind — that he wanted to do things right, to not skip any steps.

So maybe they moved in and had a kid before actually going on a proper date. That doesn’t mean he has to just derail the whole process too.

The details matter. Or so he tells himself in order to avoid jumping Peter’s bones in the middle of the night.

The results vary.

“But a date?”

Tony rolls his eyes and blatantly steals a grape from Peter’s plate. “Jeez. With the number of times you’re asking me one would think you don’t actually want to go on a date with me. I can feel my ego wilting as we speak.”

“I do!” Peter rushes to say, which at least increases Tony’s confidence. “I do,” he repeats, calmer this time. “But it’s just… I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Pleasantly surprised, I hope.”

Peter nods, mouth full of egg and grapes because he eats like a heathen sometimes. Tony still adores him, so obviously there’s something wrong with both of them.

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”

Tony smiles, a completely genuine one, and feels his chest hammer away with excitement. Who knew he wasn’t too old for all the pre-date jitters.

Peter has a drink of his coffee, immediately gasps at the heat, sticks his tongue out comically as if it’ll help, and then nods with a furious blush on his cheeks.

“Yup. A date. A hundred percent official date. Totally normal thing to happen in my life, actually, a date with Tony Stark.”

That has Tony laughing heartily, loud enough that Olive deigns to raise her head from her bananas to give him a look before she busies herself again with making as much of a mess as half-humanly possible.

“God, Pete, you’re… Seriously. Too much, sometimes.” His grin widens at Peter’s pout, and then he just has to kiss it off of him because there’s naturally no other possible course of action. “You do realize we live together, right? As in, we literally just bought a house a week ago which is in both our names. You own a house with Tony Stark, you have a daughter with Tony Stark, you are, for all intents and purposes, in a steady relationship with Tony Stark. And yet you balk at going on a date with me?”

That has Peter rolling his eyes at him. “You sound like an obnoxious jerk talking about yourself in the third person.” Tony smiles as if to say ‘and what’s new?’ Peter shakes his head in amusement, digging into the rest of his eggs, and then saying, mouth still full, “Yeah but like, we haven’t actually done the whole date thing. Actually, I haven’t gone on a date in… wow, a depressingly amount of time for someone my age.”

He makes a comical face, cheeks puffing out exaggeratedly. Tony smacks him with the napkin which Peter grabs and uses to wipe his mouth.

“Neither have I. But I want to. I really want to, with you.”

His naked honesty grants him another blush from Peter, complete with ducked eyes and a bite on his lower lip. Tony doesn’t think it’s fair at all because it just makes him want to press forward in time and take him to bed already.

But he doesn’t. He has some self-control, actually. Also, Olive is still in the room, getting more mashed bananas on her hair than her mouth.

“Okay,” Peter says, looking at him beneath his eyelashes. “It’s a date then.”

Tony’s grin threatens to stay stuck to his face the whole day.

* * *

“Wow. So this is what dating Tony Stark is like, huh?”

They’re sitting across from each other in a small alcove at one of Tony’s favorite restaurants. Peter looks incredibly handsome in a blazer and slacks, but he keeps tugging at the sleeves of his shirt every other minute, eyes darting around the room.

Tony drinks some wine, fingers softly drumming away at the cool glass.

“Not what you had in mind?”

“It’s, uh… not what I’m used to.”

Peter’s eyes dart around the room again, pausing for longer at the occupied tables. It’s darker than most restaurants, with most of the lighting depending on candlelights placed at every table as well as a few resting in sconces on the wall. The dim lights don’t bother Peter, of course, whose eyes have a distinctly uncomfortable look to them. He tugs at his shirt again.

“You don’t like it?” Tony leans forward, already thinking of other places they can go depending on Peter’s answer.

He should’ve thought about it before, he admonishes himself. This is obviously not Peter’s scene, he doesn’t even know what he’d been thinking wanting to bring him here.

But Peter shakes his head before Tony’s self reprimand can take a step further and result in him getting up and heading to the nearest Burger King. He takes a drink from his soda — “You’re more than old enough for a proper drink now, Pete,” Tony had said, which had resulted in Peter pulling an absurdly cute face and replying, “Tastes awful. I’m good with sodas, thanks.”

“I don’t dislike it,” Peter says, placing his glass back down. “It’s just, you don’t have to, you know?” He curls his lips up, a hint of mischievousness. “You did point out just this morning that we’re already in a relationship, you don’t need all this to impress me.”

Tony leans back on his chair, breathes out in silent relief, fingers drumming rhythmically on the armrest.

“Believe it or not, Pete, I actually enjoy going out to places like this. Cliché, I know, but it really is for me as much as whoever I’m taking out. Hopefully only you for the foreseeable future.”

Peter gives him a mildly dubious look to match his tone. “You do.”

Tony ignores his skepticism and offers him genuine honesty. It’s something that’s becoming more and more a staple of their interactions. Goes to show him how deeply he’s fallen.

“Yeah. I really do. You know me, all flashy and loud.” He grins roguishly, hopefully hiding the hint of insecurity he feels. “But seriously now, I really do. The food is amazing, the staff is discreet, the other patrons are either too famous or too snobby to give a damn about anyone but themselves… All around a win.”

Peter considers him for a moment, then leans forward and lays his hand on the table, palm up in invitation. Tony immediately obliges, taking in his warm, slightly sticky skin and feeling instantly reassured.

“Then, by all means, take me out to fancy places all you like.” Peter’s lips draw in a loving smile. More playful, he adds, “As long as you don’t forget that I’m a Queens guy and I love my hole in wall places.”

Tony chuckles. “I could never. Everything requires balance.”

“Is that your therapist talking?”

“Natasha. She was referring to the weight distribution on her new knives, but… I extrapolated.”

Peter laughs warmly at that, his eyes crinkling up at the corner, and Tony basks in the sight of him.

The rest of the dinner is much more relaxed and by the time Tony opens the front door of their house he’s feeling like the evening so far has been a complete success.

The next part of his plan involves a carefully laid out seduction, a few more drinks, candles to set the mood, perhaps some ambient music.

But when Tony drops his keys on the bowl by the foyer and turns around to find Peter looking at him with undeniable hunger, his plans get understandably thrown out the window.

Tony takes one step forward and catches Peter in a searing kiss, both of them giving and taking for all they’ve got. Peter tastes like the chocolate ice cream he licked at none too subtly for dessert. Tony wants to devour him.

They make it upstairs and to the bedroom without tripping on anything or bumping shins into banisters my some miracle. They do make a mess of stripping each other, however, both trying to get it done now and fast, and end up dropping onto the bed with muffled laughter.

Tony rests his forearms on either side of Peter’s head, one hand coming up to brush Peter’s hair off his forehead. The look Peter gives him can only be described as loving, eyes deep and tender, lips curling upwards at the corners.

It has Tony leaning down for a kiss, this one much more slower-paced than the previous ones.

Peter wraps his legs around Tony’s waist, runs his hands over every inch of skin he can touch, then upgrades to desperate groping and scraping nails as his desire builds.

It drives Tony wild.

Tony pulls back, looks at Peter for a beat. He’s all dazed eyes, flushed cheeks, wet lips — Tony thinks he could immortalize this moment and be content for the rest of his life.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, low and husky and doing _things_ to Tony.

Tony hesitates for a second.

“I…”

He doesn’t know, really. He always knows, but today he doesn’t, he just wants Peter. But more. He wants to feel everything, wants to feel all of Peter’s love, all of his passion.

Peter’s look softens into one of understanding, as if he’s found something in Tony’s expression that Tony himself is not aware of.

The next moment, Peter has used his not inconsiderable strength to flip them around, pining Tony beneath him and presenting him with a smirk.

_Oh_. Maybe this is what he wants, then.

Before Tony has the time to say it one way or the other, Peter is kissing him, long, deep, passionate kisses, tongue demanding and unrelenting. Tony loses himself in the feel of it, in the feel of Peter surrounding him.

Yes, he thinks, this is exactly what he’d wanted.

Maybe because it’s so rare was Tony struggling with naming it. He enjoys topping as much as bottoming, but he’s never not in control. This is different. This is him wanting — needing — to let go, to let Peter catch him.

Peter moves down to his neck, his clavicles, his sternum, lips and tongue and teeth painting a path of his lust. Tony closes his eyes, mouth parting in pleasure and anticipation.

Tony feels fingers on him, running down his flank until they cup his ass, kneading it gently. He’s hard, painfully so, but Peter seems very determined not to touch him there, instead showering every other inch of Tony’s body with attention.

It just about kills him.

Then, finally, Tony feels Peter’s lube-coated fingers pry him open — clearly, Tony was so far gone that he hadn’t even noticed him getting the lube from the side table. Tony opens his eyes with a gasp, is met with a look that is so utterly penetrating that it’s as if Peter can see inside his very soul.

Miraculously, it doesn’t make Tony want to squirm with discomfort. On the contrary. He smiles, letting Peter see him without any hint of a mask.

“You’re gorgeous,” Peter says, no more than a whisper.

“Look who’s talking.”

Peter smiles, pleased, then unceremoniously takes Tony’s cock in his mouth while his two fingers open Tony up for him.

It’s almost too much, and Tony cries out with a gasp and a curse, struggling not to come immediately like some virginal teenager. Fuck, that’s hot.

_I’m a good teacher_ , Tony deliriously thinks, because those are some serious skills.

He must have said that part out loud because he feels Peter’s chuckle vibrating around his dick before he pulls off with an obscene sound. His lips are swollen and red and Tony nearly cries in frustration because why, why would he stop?

Peter shows him why, of course. He’s diligent like that. Peter crawls up, guiding Tony into a filthy kiss while he pushes his cock slowly inside of Tony. And fuck, yeah, definitely exactly what he needed.

Tony tells him as much, which has Peter chuckling against his neck and saying, “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

Those words rip away whatever last tethers his need for control was hanging on. Tony’s back arches into every thrust, cock leaking on his stomach, untouched. His hands wrap firmly around Peter’s muscled shoulders. Bigger, finally, a distant part of him realizes. Peter’s whole body feels different, actually. Bigger, stronger, more compact. It makes the part of Tony that desperately wants to feel taken care of today sing with joy.

Ridiculous, and yet there it is.

Tony decides to push all intrusive thoughts to the side and just fucking enjoy the ride. Peter obviously agrees, fucking him with renewed vigor, Tony’s name coming off his lips like both prayer and curse, hips snapping harshly into Tony’s, cock dragging in and out with the perfect amount of force, the perfect angle to hit Tony’s prostate.

“Fuck, you’ve gotten really good at this,” Tony manages to say in between pants and cursed pleas.

Peter smirks into his next kiss, tongue much more gentle than the fierceness with which he’s fucking Tony would suggest.

“Learned from the best,” he says.

Tony feels like his body is on fire, his cock trapped in between them with just enough contact to drive him insane yet not enough to bring him into orgasm. Peter’s body wraps around him, protective, it feels like, caring. Loving.

It makes Tony’s heart soar, that broken part of him that had felt not good enough for Peter for so long start to mend.

He tightens his hold on Peter’s ass, urges him in deeper and faster.

“I want to feel you, Pete.”

He’s not sure what he wants, exactly, because Peter is already as deep within him as humanly possible, but Peter nods, bites into his ear lobe, says, “I know baby, I’m going to come in you.”

And oh, yeah, definitely what he wants. Peter speeds up, grabs desperate hands to Tony’s hips. There’ll be bruises tomorrow, but he couldn’t care less. Tony grabs his leaking cock in hand, jerks himself to Peter’s rhythm, and fuck, he’s not going to last much longer at this pace.

Peter leans up a bit, hips still driving into Tony mercilessly, dick hitting Tony’s prostate with every stroke. He looks straight into Tony’s eyes; invading, nearly.

“Come for me.”

Tony does. It surprises him — he was close, but not that close. Or so he thought. But Peter’s tone had been just the right amount of dominating and desperate and he comes long and hard, body shaking with pleasure. He clenches around Peter automatically and is rewarded by Peter dropping his head into the crook of Tony’s neck with a gasp.

“Fuck, Tony. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Tony feels it, feels Peter clench and then release, body quivering with pleasure. Peter keeps repeating Tony’s name into his ear like a mantra, and his heart mends some more.

When Peter slides off of him with a sigh, body coming to rest into a heap next to his, Tony’s lips curl into a smile which threatens to become a permanent feature on his face.

“Now _that_ is how I like to end all my dates,” Tony says, admittedly dreamy. He’s not even fighting it anymore, Peter has that effect on him.

Peter drops a hand heavily onto Tony’s chest. He’s sweaty and flushed and there’s a grin so bright and so dazzling when he looks at Tony that Tony’s heart does a ridiculous little twist and tug in his chest.

“God, I love you,” Peter says, a mix of exasperation and pure, unadulterated joy.

Tony stills for a beat, utterly shocked, and then promptly swats his hand away.

“Hey! I was supposed to say it first. You totally stole my thunder!”

Peter gives him an indulgent look, curtailed by the fact that he still looks completely fucked out to even properly open his eyes.

“Is that so.”

“Yeah. Really not cool, Peteroo.”

Peter’s smile only grows, miles and miles of pure bliss spread out on his face as if he couldn’t think of anything better than to be in bed with Tony, panting from exertion, having a silly fight about who gets to confess their feelings first.

“And why was that?”

“Uh, because I need to make up for screwing up? Obviously. And now you went and said it first.” He huffs, shaking his head while he’s at it. This date is so not going according to any of his carefully laid out plans.

Peter puts his hand on Tony’s cheek and pulls his face to the side so that Tony’s facing him. His smile has dwindled a bit, not a lot, but enough that Tony notices.

“I remember us both being idiots, not just you.”

Tony wants to look away. Peter’s gaze is too powerful, too intimate — but it’s also too magnetic, and so Tony can’t. He licks his lips.

“Maybe, but you know me, always have to be the drama queen.”

The joke falls flat to his own ears. Peter’s brows furrow, his thumb rubs back and forth over Tony’s cheek. 

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that to yourself anymore, please. I thought we were doing better with your shitty self-esteem?”

Tony drags his eyes down to Peter’s chest. It’s definitely more muscled, he decides, pleased. It’s also glistening with sweet and there’s a drop running down his right pec that Tony very much wants to lick off of him. He doesn’t.

Instead, he meets Peter’s eyes again and gives him an innocuous smile. “Yeah, sure. My self-esteem is great. Fantastic, even, cause I’m awesome.”

“Good,” Peter says, purposefully choosing to take Tony’s words at face value. “Because you _are_ awesome, and amazing, and brilliant, and beautiful—”

Tony covers Peter’s mouth with his hand, rolling his eyes when Peter licks it. Typical. There are crinkles of mirth at the corner of Peter’s eyes and his eyelashes look even more delicate with the moonlight filtering through the window and Tony doesn’t really know how he got so lucky at all.

“Alright, alright. Jeez. I know I just let you come in me but no need to shower me with all the praise _after_ the fact.”

Tony’s cheeks burn, which he’s sure Peter can feel because the asshole keeps his hand right there, unrelenting even when Tony twists his face a bit to try to lessen the impact.

Peter smiles, a mix of smug and fond. He licks at Tony’s hand until he drops it with a very manly yelp, scowling at him for good measure.

“I can do both,” Peter says, mischievous grin in place. “I _will_ do both. Shall I continue?”

Tony throws his hand back over Peter’s mouth in response and is startled into laughter when Peter tugs it off without a struggle, pins him down with one hand holding both Tony’s arms over his head, and proceeds to list off his compliment shower, words coming out muffled in between the thousand kisses he’s decided to pepper over Tony’s face, but still disturbingly perceptive.

“No more, no more. Jesus, spare an old man the embarrassment of blushing like a teenage girl in front of her crush.”

Peter’s response is to wiggle his eyebrows, dive back in for more kisses over his cheeks and ears and brows and lips and everywhere he can reach, body shaking with laughter.

Tony groans in frustration but there’s a smile building inside of him with the force of a storm and it eventually wins. He twists his face until he catches one of Peter’s errant kisses and then keeps him there, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth before delving in with a teasing tongue and swollen lips.

When he pulls back, more than a little dazed — a look which is mirrored by Peter perfectly because he’s just that good — he whispers, “I love you, too, Pete. So, so much it’s actually quite ridiculous.”

Peter’s smile is so bright that Tony thinks he could possibly get blinded by it.

“I like being ridiculous. Ridiculous is good, perfect even. Ridiculous amounts of love are the—”

Tony cuts him off with another kiss which has Peter smiling into it but then melting into him, body lowering onto Tony’s to bring them as close together as possible. There’s even a certain amount of stickiness that has nothing to do with sweet or come.

“Definitely the perfect ending to a date,” Peter says, a dreamy sigh leaving his lips in the process.

“Right?” Then, because he can’t help being a little asshole sometimes, he says, “Is it up to par with what you’d expect from a date with Tony Stark?”

Peter laughs warmly in response. “You make a good boyfriend, yeah.”

Tony makes a face at the name. They literally live and have a child together, boyfriend doesn’t seem appropriate to define their relationship at all. There are other words, better words — one in particular, his hopeful side suggests — but those can wait, he decides. Words are just that, at the end of the day.

Peter, in his arms, absolutely content look on his face, joy radiating for his pores — that is certainly the part that matters.

* * *

“I’m taking Vision to Wakanda,” Tony tells Peter at dinner around mid October. “Shuri’s gonna help us get the Mind Stone out of him without, you know, killing him.”

That had been a fun conversation.

The first day they got back to Earth and the Guardians had met the Avengers, Nebula had taken one look at Vision and said, voice as monotone as ever, “That’s my father’s Mind Stone. He’ll be coming for it.”

To which Gamora had countered, sending Tony one of her looks, “Do you just keep InfinityStones attached to people’s heads or is this a special case?”

Rocket had gone with an increasingly hysteric, “What? Do you have a fucking death wish? Those stones are the most dangerous things in the entire universe. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m even staying next to one again. We should get out of here. Like yesterday.”

“I am Groot.”

“Are you guys fucking insane?” Quill had waved his hands in theair, frustration and anxiety visible in every move. “The last stone we handled nearly destroyed a whole planet and almost killed us.”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, buddy, it did kill you. See?” Quill says, giving the room a pointed look. “What the fuck are you guys doing sticking one in someone’s forehead?”

So that had been an entertaining moment of generally freaking out, thinking of solutions to get the stone out of Vision without killing him in the process, trying to find ways to make sure Thanos wouldn’t find it here.

Later, Loki had said, “If you hide one, you’ll have to hide three.” Which had then resulted in them finding out that the Tesseract was actually an Infinity Stone and that Strange kept the freaking Time Stone as a pendant.

Tony’s been mostly letting the rest of the Avengers deal with finding appropriate solutions in a timely manner, so far. He’s been too busy getting his mental health minimally in check, coming back from the legally missing and handling all the fallout — and paperwork, dear lord the amount of paperwork involved — from being gone from the world and SI, getting the hang of raising a fast-growing half-alien child, and working on his relationship with Peter.

Overall, he feels more than justified for handling that particular cumbersome problem to his more than qualified team.

Now, however, Tony finds himself in a place of… peace. Almost unbelievable yet completely true.

His company is up and running, he’s got ten different projects he’s working on at any given time — and yes, they ended up converting two of the six bedrooms into a good-sized lab, handy for when Tony doesn’t feel like driving all the way to the Compound with Olive in tow and when Peter doesn’t want to use the campus labs. Also because they suck compared to anything Tony can get, so.

Olive is flourishing. She’s talking, mostly just random words that involve a lot of guessing to understand her meaning, but she’s developing so quickly that Tony oftentimes feels like he’s constantly running on adrenaline trying to catch up with her. It’s amazing.

And Peter… is simply fantastic. Tony can honestly not believe how he lucked out in such a huge way. Seriously, some days Peter will fall asleep and Tony will just stay up, looking at him and being completely mesmerized that he’s allowed to love him, that Peter somehow loves him back. It’s incredible, but it’s _real_.

Tony going to Wakanda, however, might put a small strain in their so far pretty perfect relationship.

Peter goes quiet for a moment, chewing on his food slower than usual. Tony waits him out, eating and listening to Olive’s inane chatter with forced casualty.

“Wakanda,” Peter finally says, monotone.

Tony stops an impeding disaster with Olive’s apple juice and says, “Yeah. We’re thinking next week, should be relatively quick. Maybe three or four days, depending on what Shuri has to work with.”

There’s another pause. Then, “I see.”

“You could come,” Tony offers, insides churning with anxiety. “I’m thinking Olive should come with, just because you’ll be busy during the day and we can’t really rely on the Avengers to babysit her for so long. I guess I could get Happy to do it, but he’s seriously not great with kids.”

“No, definitely not.”

“Yeah,” Tony continues, perfectly aware that he’s rambling to compensate for Peter’s eery silence but unable to stop. “I thought maybe the flight would be a problem for her but then I remembered she spent two whole months inside a space ship and it was fine, right? Granted, there was way more room to walk around, but I think it’ll be fine for just a few hours. I’ve been working on upgrading the Quinjet design and the newest model can make it to Wakanda in just under five hours. Cool, huh? Also, you could come, I already said that but then you didn’t say anything—”

“I have classes,” Peter says, posture rigid. “Midterms are coming up and I have labs I can’t miss.”

Tony nods, dips his eyes to his food. He takes a bite of steak which is actually quite amazing but he’s not able to properly enjoy it with the state of his nerves.

“Yeah, of course. Makes sense.”

Peter makes a noncommittal sound and keeps his eyes on his food, cleaning his plate mechanically while holding his cutlery so firmly that Tony’s afraid he’ll cut straight through the plate. There’s a tick on his jaw which Tony rarely sees.

“Do you not want me to go?” Tony asks quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Probably because he looks like he’d prefer to roll down a carpet of blades and then be dunked into a pool of alcohol than finish this conversation.

Also, probably because the last time Tony suggested Peter go live in New York without him it had ended in Peter shouting at him and then them buying a house within a week.

Probably because of that.

What Tony says is, “I’m not entirely comfortable with it, to be honest,” because Tamara has been nagging at him that healthy relationships involve both people talking about things that bother them or make them vulnerable.

She also says that Tony shouldn’t be afraid to ask for things for himself because he deserves them just as much as anyone else, so. He takes everything she says with a grain of salt.

The honesty thing seems to be working, though, at least insofar as it gets Peter’s posture to relax, his jaw no longer a ticking time bomb, his shoulder down about half an inch. The plate might just survive, too.

“It’s not… I don’t love it, no,” Peter says, slowly raising his eyes to meet Tony’s. He gives him a sardonic quirk of his lips. “We have to put on our big boy pants eventually, though, right? Can’t exactly stay like this forever.”

Tony goes to reply, then Olive bangs her hands on the table to get their attention, mashed potatoes all over her face. Tony scolds her gently, keeps a hand twirling though her curls, and refocuses on Peter.

“We’ve been getting some practice, haven’t we? You going out on patrol.”

If he’s honest, Tony hates it. Absolutely loathes having Peter swinging around the neighborhood at night, coming home well after midnight. It’s only been a few weeks since Peter put the suit back on, and he doesn’t do it very often, but Tony still hates it.

Most of all, he hates that he’s become so dependent on Peter — on having him right next to him, on knowing that he’s safe, unharmed — that he literally refuses to go to bed until Peter’s home.

It’s absolutely horrible, especially since he’s gotten the bad habit of sleeping through the night these days instead of getting lost in nightmares and workshop binges. On top of that, they have Olive waking them up bright and early and completely uncaring of her parents’ sleepless nights. 

Peter’s snort is response enough. “Yeah, cause those have been going well.”

Tony presses his lips together and then can’t hold in a chuckle. “We’re the worst, aren’t we? Seriously, how fucked up are we? Gosh, no wonder my therapist is on her way to buying a house in the Hamptons.”

“We should probably come with a warning or something,” Peter says, cheeks tensing with controlled laughter.

“Radioactive but gorgeous.”

Peter laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Olive lets out a matching giggle of joy in companionship.

“Sadly true, though. Good thing we’re already off the dating market or otherwise we’d be in some serious trouble.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tony says with mock seriousness.

Peter throws his napkin at him which results in an excited cry from Olive and a round of claps.

Tony tuts. “Such a bad example, Mr. Parker, I’m appalled. There are impressionable little eyes in the room.”

“You love it,” Peter says, linking their feet together under the table.

“Sure do.” Tony is sure he has what Rhodey has informed him is a ‘disgustingly loving look’ on his face, but it’s an automatic reaction to the man he loves.

Peter sends him a narrow-eyed glare for it, cheeks flushing. “Stop it.” Tony looks at him innocently. “Seriously, stop it.” He sighs, bone-weary and sounding way older than he has any rights to, and reaches for Tony’s free hand over the table. “Go to Wakanda, do your thing with Vision, and yes, take Olive because she’ll probably love it and I really won’t have the time to look after her.”

He doesn’t say he’ll be fine, and they both know he possibly might not be. Tony knows for sure he won’t, which is why he isn’t saying anything himself. But they have to do this. Tony is tired of letting fear run his life.

Tony lifts Peter’s hand up, presses a kiss to his wrist. “Love you.”

Peter’s smile is full of promises. “Love you too, you sap.”

* * *

The trip is not great. Or, more accurately, the nights are not great.

Tony probably didn’t sleep more than six hours total in the four-day trip, and not all of that was because of his inability to sleep without Peter.

Olive, although she seemed to love everything and everyone in Wakanda — and seriously, who wouldn’t — became a little demon at night. Tony doesn’t know if it’s because of the different environment or because she was missing Peter, but the fact remains that she would only fall asleep after having cried herself to sleep with little heart-wrenching sobs that tore through Tony’s very soul.

The moment he steps foot in their home, Tony is mentally and physically exhausted and perfectly content to never try this thing of being a mentally healthy adult again.

The only plus side is that they managed to extract the stone from Vision without killing him. There’s still the issue of what to do with it now, but that’s a problem for another day.

Peter doesn’t look like he had a fun time being home alone either, and so the three of them spend the rest of the day cuddled up in the living room sofa watching Moana under a mountain of blankets and surrounded by comfort food.

It’s absurdly domestic, but Tony doesn’t think he’s ever loved something more.

He was right, being a father does make him all kinds of soft and ridiculous. Tony wouldn’t change a thing.

On the weekend, May comes over, cooing over Olive and showering her with attention. Olive loves it, chatting rapidly at her with words that are becoming more and more discernible every week.

Peter is at the library studying, so Tony busies himself with getting dinner ready in time for him to get back.

“You can cook?” Peter had said the first time Tony had prepared a meal without anything needing to be microwaved.

Tony had scoffed at him, outraged at the tone of shock and surprise Peter hadn’t even tried to hide. “Of course I can cook, my mother was Italian. I just choose not to most of the time.”

It was true, then, but now Tony finds himself cooking more and more, memories of his mother and grandmother teaching him coming to the surface every time. But, unlike before — and the reason why Tony never cooked if he could help it — this time the memories are fond and full of warmth.

He supposes having a family to cook for makes all the difference.

May walks into the kitchen with Olive bouncing on her hip, giggling when May’s fingers tickle her belly. Olive loves having May over and being dotted on — and who wouldn’t — and she always runs around after her showing her every little new thing in the house she feels like May needs to know.

Today it had started with the things Tony had brought from Wakanda and ended with the letters that had come in the mail. If one were to only hear her tone of voice, one would think they were all of equal importance to her levels of excitement. The fact that Tony scoffs every time there’s an actual physical letter — most of them for Peter, people know better than to try that trick with him — and makes a show of saying how some people are obviously still living in the dinosaur era, possibly has some impact in Olive’s level of excitement.

May takes a peak at the pots over Tony’s shoulder, with Olive’s hands taking the chance to tug at Tony’s ear, and makes an approving sound.

“Smell delicious, Tony. Peter really lucked out.”

Tony smirks at her teasing tone, stirring the bolognese gently. He sticks his tongue out at Olive and pulls her nose, earning himself a cry of glee.

“If you’re comparing my cooking to yours, then I think anyone would luck out.”

May brings her free hand to her chest with an affronted gasp but then dissolves into warm laughter regardless. Olive joins in as if she’s in on the joke.

“Unfortunately too true, I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I guess I’m lucky Peter’s got an iron stomach. Even before the spider bite, he would eat anything.”

“Oh yeah, that thing’s one of a kind.”

Tony remembers a particularly horrible day back in their room, where there’d been a violently fluorescent-yellow viscous _thing_ on their plates. Tony had eaten it because ever since being starved he had to finish everything on his plate, and the taste hadn’t actually been bad at all. So he’d finished it, feeling slightly better about his compulsive needs, only to have to run to the bathroom half an hour later with food being expelled from both ends of his digestive system.

It was, honestly, one of the most horrifying experiences of Tony’s life. The wall-less bathroom was an explosion of fluorescent yellow that would just not stop coming, his insides felt like they were going to keel out at any moment and die a miserable death and it wouldn’t be soon enough.

Peter, on the other hand, had been perfectly fine. Peachy even, with his full stomach and lack of cramps in supposedly uncrampable places.

Tony must have made a face at the memory because May says, “Reminded you of something?”

“Trust me, this is a story you don’t want to hear. Let’s just agree that alien food has its pros and cons.”

Olive, apparently tired of their conversation now, wiggles her little butt down May’s arms until she’s dropped onto the floor.

“Where’re you going, little miss?” Tony asks, amused.

She doesn’t even look back at him, just says, “Play,” before she’s off, running on little chubby legs.

“Should we just let her…?”

Tony waves off May’s concern. “FRIDAY will keep an eye on her, and she usually just plays with her construction blocks anyways.”

“She is doing just that, boss,” FRIDAY says.

“See? Like father like daughter.” Tony smirks, undeniably proud, and has a taste of the sauce. He adds a bit more pepper and a dash of chilly flakes, glad that Olive seems to love spicy food so far.

“She really is,” May says, leaning against the counter next to the stove. There’s a look on her face, unmeasurably fond, and it never stops making Tony so very glad that Olive has so many people who care for her. “But I can see some things from Peter too. It’s weird, right? How kids pick up mannerisms like that.”

Tony smiles fondly. “Oh yeah, but you should see Peter’s face, he gets all proud.” Tony does too, obviously, but he keeps that to himself. Bad enough that he’s showing his love-struck look more and more, no need for extra ammunition.

May makes a half-amused half-contemplative sound. She’s quiet for a bit, merely watching Tony as he starts making the béchamel sauce.

“You really are good for him, Tony,” she says, after a long enough pause that Tony had seriously gotten lost in his own head and lost track of his surroundings.

He blinks once, then plasters on a roguish smirk and aims for nonchalance. “Oh, uh. Thanks, May. I try.”

“You do more than try,” she says, stealing a pinch of the mozzarella Tony was grating onto the cutting board. Her fingers are nimble and practiced, purple nail polish chipped at the ends, and it makes him amused to realize why Peter always gets so outraged when Tony steals food from his plate. “I can’t say I would have been okay with this before… But I get it now.”

Tony ventures a single glance at her before refocusing on the task at hand, giving much more attention than required to make sure the cheese gets grated to perfection.

“I… Thank you,” he says quietly. “And for believing me when I said I really didn’t mean for— It wasn’t something I’d ever thought about, I swear. But I’m glad, you know? That it ended up as well as it did.”

And wow, okay. Apparently not meeting her eyes makes him pour more of his heart out than he’d originally intended. It’s all true, of course, but they’ve never had such a direct talk about it before and it feels… freeing.

Raw and vulnerable, but freeing.

May lays a comforting hand on Tony’s arm, fingers wrapping around his bicep once before letting go again.

“You’re a good man,” she says, conviction so clear that it takes Tony aback. “Trust me, you are. I know you’d never do something without Peter’s consent.”

Tony shakes his head vehemently, raises his eyes to meet hers. He drops the block of mozzarella on the cutting table, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Never. Fuck, absolutely not. I’d have honestly killed myself and let him eat my corpse before forcing him to do anything he didn’t agree with.”

“That’s… incredibly disturbing,” May says slowly, but there’s a hint of an amused smile in her expression. She leans back more casually on the counter, posture more relaxed. Almost as if Tony’s vehemence had reinforced her certainty.

Tony shrugs. “It’s true. Probably wouldn’t have ended up great, but hey, more time for him to figure out how to break free.”

May snorts out a surprised laugh, fingers running through her hair. “Jesus, that’s morbid.”

“Eh.” Tony turns back to the stove, absentmindedly adding some more salt and pepper to the béchamel before switching it off. “When you’re stuck in a room and it’s either fuck or die of starvation, your imagination tends to go places.”

He realizes what he’s just said a second too late, curses himself silently, and immediately wants to take the words back. Seriously, there was no need for putting it so graphically, he thinks, mortified at himself.

“Sorry, that was too much,” Tony says, desperately wishing for a pit to die in. He stirs the bolognese one last time, eyes steadfast in their determination not to look at her, then lays everything on the marble to start building the lasagne.

Hopefully it will come out edible, he thinks glumly. His nona always used to say that if you cook when you’re feeling down the food tastes like shit. Well, she didn’t say ‘shit’ because she was a proper lady, but the point remains.

“It’s alright,” May says, undeservingly reassuring. She leans forward a bit, tilts her head as if encouraging Tony to look at her. He obviously doesn’t. In fact, he very much wishes he had his shades right about now. “Well, it’s not alright that you had to go through that, but you don’t have to mince your words around me.”

Tony grimaces. He busies himself with layering the lasagna, ears catching errant giggles and mumbled words from Olive playing in the other room. Sometimes he can’t believe how good a baby she is that he can just leave her under FRIDAY’s ever-watchful eyes and not worry constantly. 

“You still feel guilty,” May adds after a beat.

Tony jerks his head in a harsh nod, teeth clenched together nearly painfully.

How could he not? It doesn’t matter that they worked it out in the end, that they’ve managed to actually come out with a relationship rather than a debacle. There’s a part of him that will probably never stop feeling guilty, even with all the therapy sessions in the world.

Some days, Tony feels as if guilt is his one driving force in life. So maybe feeling guilty about this will just make him keep wanting to do better.

Some days, Tony wonders if without the guilt he would even be a half-decent human being at all. But on those days he goes to his workshop and lets the loud music drown out his fears and hopes that when he emerges back into the world again the feelings of failure won’t threaten to drown him.

May sighs, drums her fingers on the countertop, nails playing erratic music on the marble.

“Has Peter told you about Skip?”

Tony blinks at the jarring change in subject. “Huh? Skip who?”

May’s lips twist in displeasure, jaw working from side to side. Her eyes take on a dangerous quality to it which pings Tony’s danger alerts.

“Ask him, alright? I’d thought with what you two went through that he would have…” She trails off, eyes distant and burning. Then she takes a breath, visibly settling herself, and adds, calmer, “Ask him. He won’t like it, so you can blame it on me, but I think it would help.”

She leaves him with that, presumably to go back to Olive, and Tony stays frozen in his spot, a lasagna sheet halfway on the baking tray, until he shakes himself out of his confusion.

Peter comes home just as Tony takes the lasagna off the oven — honestly, when did he become such a proficient house-husband? — and they all eat at the table as if Tony doesn’t have burning questions to ask, eating away at him as powerfully as any hunger.

The food is delicious, so maybe his nona was wrong on some things — not the recipe, though, that one is still spot on. May leaves after dinner with promises to be back soon and a single, pointed look towards Tony.

It’s only later, though, when Olive is already asleep and they’ve both changed into sweatpants, lying in bed with the TV playing something Tony couldn’t explain for the life of him, that the words finally escape his lips in a rush.

“Who’s Skip?”

Peter freezes. Truthfully, there isn’t much of a difference in his already stiff posture, but Tony can feel the tension radiating off of him, how even his breathing has frozen for just a moment before resuming, carefully controlled.

It makes all the wild theories Tony’s mind has been conjuring up the whole night go on a crazy spree.

Tony drums one hand just above his now much smaller thigh hole, the other opening and closing on his stomach, nails scraping through his skin on the way.

“May told you,” Peter finally says, cold, collected, eyes fixed on the TV.

“She didn’t, she just mentioned the name.”

Peter’s jaw ticks, his breathing becomes shallower, eyes start darting around. Tony recognizes the look immediately and feels like an utter asshole.

“Don’t tell me,” he hurries to say. “Seriously, you don’t have to at all. I was just curious, but I’ll be perfectly fine not knowing, okay? Peter, baby, it’s fine. Seriously, honey, it’s alright. Breathe okay?”

Peter’s naked chest is still rising and falling rapidly. Tony can see his ribs straining with each inhale. He touches Peter with just the tips of his fingers, gingerly, painfully aware that even that ghost of a touch can wreak havoc in Peter’s senses if he’s tipping towards the edge.

It brings him back slowly.

“That’s it, baby, it’s alright. We’ll just forget about the whole thing, okay? Just keep breathing for me.”

Eventually, Peter doesn’t look on the brink of a panic attack anymore, and Tony sags with relief while at the same time blaming himself. How could he be so fucking thoughtless?

Gosh, he feels like a complete douchebag.

He runs his fingers over Peter’s brow, smoothing out the stress lines. Peter lets his eyes fall shut, a heavy breath escaping his parted lips.

He looks devastatingly fragile, Tony thinks. He’s not crying, he’s not shaking or quivering at all. His breathing is steady now, and he’s hidden his eyes away from any type of scrutiny, but the fragility is undeniably there and it breaks Tony’s heart.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony says quietly. “I didn’t know… Well I still don’t, I guess, but I didn’t know you’d react like this.”

His fingers move down to Peter’s cheek, gentle and tender and apologetic. Peter catches his hand, leans his face into it, lets out a shaky breath at the contact.

Tony sags further into his pillow, arm bent to support his head while he keeps concerned eyes sweeping over Peter for any minute sign of distress.

“He abused me,” Peter says. Just like that. Voice firm and detached and a complete contrast to his demeanor.

Tony feels a knife digging into his spine from atlas to coccyx at the words.

He hadn’t known, obviously. There was no way he could’ve known, but he thinks back rapidly through their every interaction since they were locked up in that 117,38 square feet room and reduced to fuck or starve and he thinks that maybe a part of him guessed it could be something like this when May had mentioned it in the same conversation about him not being a monster for giving in.

It’s horrible, though. Hearing it, having it confirmed, put out into the world in such a cold, matter of fact manner. It’s absolutely devastating, and it makes it worse because it’s _Peter_. No one deserves that, no one at all, but Peter? No, he definitely deserves it least of all.

Tony is so shaken that he can do nothing more than tighten his shaking hand into Peter’s cheek, body swimming in an ocean of helpless horror.

Peter talks for him.

“He was my babysitter, a neighbor, and he was nice and so cool and I looked up to him a lot. At that age it was pretty much just Iron Man and Skip.”

Tony makes a pained sound which results in Peter opening his eyes again and offering him the most devastatingly broken smile.

“How— how old?”

“Nine.”

Tony closes his eyes forcefully, tries to will away the image from his brain. It refuses to go, though, sticking to his every neuron with merciless stubbornness.

“Jesus.”

“Can we… can we do this another day?”

Tony forces his eyes back open with preternatural determination. “Of course, baby, anything you need. We don’t even have to do this at all.”

Peter gives him a shaky smile, eyes shining with gratitude. “We do, though. We kind of do.” Tony goes to protest but Peter cuts him off. “It’s important, Tony. I know it is. And especially if we want to have an open, honest relationship.”

“Fuck, Pete, I don’t need you to go digging into your worst nightmares to have an honest relationship. I don’t want to cause you any pain _ever_.”

“I know. I know you don’t.”

Tony feels something wet and cold drop on his shoulder and looks down in surprise, realizing with fascinated detachment that he’s crying. He can’t be bothered to swipe at the tears though, too heartbroken to do anything but keep touching Peter with his free hand.

Peter’s face softens unfairly so. He kisses Tony’s palm, then leans up to kiss the tears away from Tony’s cheeks.

“Pretty sure I’m the one supposed to comfort you,” Tony says wetly, embarrassed.

Peter touches their foreheads together and shakes his head, their noses bumping in the process.

“Not how it works,” he whispers. “We both get to have some comfort. We’re just special that way.”

Tony doesn’t even have the capacity to let out a weak chuckle. “Pete…”

“Another day, alright? I promise.”

“You really don’t—”

“But I want to, I do. And you deserve to hear it.” He makes a face then, a mix between disgust and disbelief which would be comical at any other point in time. “Actually, deserve is probably the wrong word to use there, it’s not like it’s a nice story to hear. But you know what I mean, right?”

Tony looks at him for a beat, eyes drifting over every little tell he can find in Peter’s face. When he finds nothing but honesty, he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Cause you’re a genius, huh?” Peter says, lips curling into a tentatively teasing smile. It looks weak and almost painful but Tony knows just how much effort Peter is putting into making this not a big deal and reassuring Tony so he doesn’t break down further than he has over something that’s long passed.

This time Tony does let out a pitiful sort of laugh. “Sure.”

Peter dips his head down into the crook of Tony’s neck, breathes him in like he needs it to regain his balance. It’s an incredibly sobering and humbling thought, to realize that someone relies on him so deeply for comfort.

He knows, logically, empirically even, that they both learned to depend on each other for their mental health back in their little room. Knows that when they got back and tried to make things go back to normal as they’d been before, without each other, that it had been nigh on impossible.

But it’s different, somehow, knowing how much — truly, with concrete evidence — Peter has come to need him. To want him.

Tony’s arms wrap around Peter instinctively. He drops a kiss to his head, lingers for a beat or three longer than usual, lets mint and almond drift up his nose and calm his distressed heart.

“It’s because she wanted you to know you’re a good person,” Peter says after what feels like an eternity, voice muffled into Tony’s skin, lips brushing his neck as he speaks.

“Huh?”

“May. Why she mentioned Skip.”

Tony’s brow furrows and he shakes his head even though Peter can only feel it. “No, she didn’t tell me anything about him, I swear. Just said his name ‘cause she thought I already knew about it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Peter brushes a soft kiss to Tony’s neck, lifts his head up so that his cheek rests against Tony’s, as if he can’t bear to be separated from him for any period of time. “But it’s because she wanted you to know that what happened wasn’t your fault.”

Tony keeps quiet, unsure of what to say because what he wants to say, what is still his first impulse after all this time, is to say that yes, it is actually his fault. He should’ve found a way to stop it long before it became unavoidable.

Peter seems to read his thoughts anyways. He’s always been nifty like that.

He leans back, far enough away that he can have a good look at Tony without either of their eyes converging in the middle. His hand comes to rest over Tony’s chest, right by the scar, it feels almost burning. His brow has that stubborn twist to it, mouth set in determination.

“It’s not. Please, for the last time, just believe me already when I tell you it’s not, alright? Please.”

Tony’s natural instinct is to give Peter anything he wants to when he asks for it, especially if it’s like that. And yet this time he can’t.

So he remains quiet instead.

Peter lets out a frustrated groan that seems to come from the depths of him, chest literally vibrating with the echoes of it.

“For fuck’s sake. Some days I really just want to go back in time and give your dad and all the other assholes who made you think you’re never good enough and that every bad thing to happen is on you a good kick in the balls. Or the boobs, if it’s a woman, I’m not picky. _Jesus_.”

That startles a surprised laugh out of Tony.

Peter narrows his eyes at him, advances forward enough to seem menacing, as if Tony would ever be scared of him. It’s a good front though, and Tony feels something within him — some deeply hidden part of him that would probably look a lot like a little kid if it were to have a physical body — unexpectedly warm up at the words and the sheer resoluteness in Peter’s face. 

“You think I’m joking? I’m really fucking not. Seriously. I’m _this_ close to locking myself in the lab and discovering time travel just so I can go back and drop some well deserved testicle-slash-breast kicks.”

Tony feels a smile forming on his lips to go with the surge of warmth and love that fills his chest. His thumb moves of its own accord, stroking Peter’s frown out of his face, smile growing impossibly when Peter huffs out a frustrated breath and then blows away Tony’s thumb.

“Seems a bit of an odd reason for such a big scientific accomplishment,” Tony teases, cheeks almost painful with trying to contain the level of joy he’s feeling. “But hey, to each their own fire-starter.”

Peter gives him an utterly unimpressed look. “Trust me, you need it.”

“Because of my crappy self-esteem?” Tony says, rakish charm turned up another level.

“Among other things.”

“Okay, so now you’re just gunning for a whole new boyfriend.” He makes a face, tongue sticking out comically. “Blegh, still not a fan of that word, by the way. What kind of self-respecting fifty-three-year old calls himself someone’s boyfriend?”

Peter’s face finally cracks and his lips twist him poorly contained humor. “Having any plans to change that status?”

Tony narrows his eyes at him, jabbing a playful finger at his face. “Don’t you try your tricks on me, Mr. Parker, I’m on to you. You’ll be hearing no half-assed proposal coming out of these lips.”

That one teasing comment creates such a bright change of expression in Peter’s face that it leaves Tony breathless for a minute.

“Alright. No half-assed proposals,” Peter says, sounding a bit breathless himself.

Tony stares at him for a while, and Peter stares right back. It feels big, this moment. It feels huge, actually, and yet, at the same time, so inexplicably simple. They’re both in this together, they’ve both been in this together since the very beginning, and so this monumental life-change doesn’t actually feel that colossal at all.

It feels right. Perfect.

Tony thinks his expression gives his thoughts completely away and so he molds his features into a less stupidly besotted look with distinct effort.

“Exactly,” Tony says solemnly, desperately trying to regain his composure.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Peter’s mouth quivers with mirth. He bites at his lower lip, eyes crinkling at the corners, and then loses their impromptu staring match with a heartwarming laugh, the sound spreading through Tony’s body like a soothing balm.

Peter kisses him, soft and slow and everything that he could ever want, and Tony melts into it, arms wrapping around his waist to hold him closer, and promises himself that he will do everything in his power to never have to see that look of devastation in Peter’s face ever again.

When they pull back, Tony clears his throat and says, “I could definitely be persuaded to curb the self-esteem issues if those are the kind of kisses I get as a reward.”

Peter snorts out a laugh, rubs his nose playfully on Tony’s cheek, and then wiggles his way into curling over Tony’s chest.

“I’ll make sure to keep my end of the bargain, Mr. Stark.”

Tony hums, a smile on his lips. His heart still aches, might ache forever, truly, but he thinks that he can learn to live with one more ache in his life. At this stage, he’s becoming incredibly proficient.

Peter snuggles further into Tony, an incredible feat in itself because Tony didn’t think he still had any space left that hadn’t already been overtaken by Peter’s monster cuddling. It makes his smile grow wider, impossibly fonder, and his chest feels as if it might just grow enough that his ribs pop out. In a good way, definitely the best way possible.

“You get it though, right?” Peter says apropos of nothing Tony can discern. His voice is muffled into Tony’s chest, his breath coming out in little warm puffs that make Tony’s skin shiver with goosebumps.

“What?”

“That it wasn’t the same at all? That I’ve never once blamed or hated you for it? For giving in.”

Oh.

Tony wonders how many times Peter — and May and Pepper and Rhodey and Tamara — will have to say that for him to believe it. Probably an infinite amount.

“I…”

Peter’s head comes up to meet his, apparently deeming the conversation important enough to be had face to face to leave the comfort of Tony’s arms. His jaw has that stubborn set to it that Tony is seeing more and more reflected on Olive, but his eyes, rather than shining with the same stubbornness, reveal a beseeching earnestness that leaves Tony feeling a bit unmoored.

“Trust me, I know the difference,” Peter says, a certainty to his words that is frankly a bit frightening. “What we have was nothing like that at all. _Ever_.”

Peter’s expression is almost imploring in his need for Tony to accept his words and Tony finds that, for the first time since they’d both been starving, ribs trying at a piano impression on their chests, cheeks sunken in, he might just believe him.

It almost takes him aback, this sudden acceptance of Peter’s words as truth. It crashes through him like a tsunami, utterly unstoppable and all-encompassing in its reach. Something within him uncurls, slowly and then all at once, and he feels a whoosh of breath leave his lungs with the force of it.

It’s almost too much. There’s relief, so pure and bone-deep that it’s nearly overwhelming. It spreads from his heart outwards, bathing everything in its path with utter disregard for the outcome. It leaves Tony breathless, chest tingling with the extra space that used to be occupied by such a huge weight.

He’d grown accustomed to it. He’d learned to live with it. He loves Peter and Peter loves him and they have a family together, are building their life together — he _knows_ this, but that weight had never left. The guilt had always been there, in the background, a constant hum buzzing through their every interaction.

This? Now? Tony is almost not sure how to live without it. It’s utterly absurd and he almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but there it is.

Guilt and Tony have gone side by side for as long as he can remember. If not for one thing than for another, and he might have gotten better at it over the years, might have accepted that not everything is his fault, but some things never go away, no matter how many therapy sessions he has.

He doesn’t think it’s gone away either, not the piles and piles of things he has to be guilty about. But this? Peter, how it started, being in love with him? It had taken on the biggest part in his mountain pile of guilty things to accumulate and now he feels like all that weight has just been shaved off, tossed carelessly out the side of the mountain like a pile of clothes in a brothel.

It’s unsettling, he feels a bit unbalanced, even, but he also feels like he might just be able to breathe properly since they were both abducted by not-so-little-or-green men.

And he thinks this might be the first proper time where he lets himself feel the full brunt of his emotion for Peter.

_That_ , too, is staggering. He hadn’t realized there were some things he hadn’t been letting himself fully experience and oh, yeah, no wonder why. His love for Peter feels like it could consume him with its fire, burn him to a crisp only to have him be revived from the ashes like some fairytale sort of phoenix. 

It would have burned right through the guilt — and Tony hadn’t been ready for that, hadn’t thought he’d ever be deserving of that.

Now, looking at Peter, watching as he keeps his eyes steadfastly on Tony, cataloging every expression, Tony thinks that getting rid of that guilt was about the best thing that could’ve happened.

“Okay,” he says simply, because there are no other words he can say that could do enough justice to what he’s feeling.

Peter’s gaze drifts all over Tony’s features, sniffing out any hint of deceitfulness. Tony gives him none, shrouds himself instead with a vulnerable type of honesty which he would’ve been deadly allergic to at every other point in his life.

Peter sees it, a look crossing his face which might just make it to the top five most beautiful sights in Tony’s list.

“Yeah?”

Tony offers him a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” Peter says, still looking equal parts dazed and amazed.

Tony melts, runs soft fingertips over Peter’s forehead, temple, cheeks, lips. It feels like he’s touching the most precious thing in the world and his heart is beating in an _allegro_ tempo against his ribs with the need for extra care.

“I love you, Pete,” he says, a whisper, too scared to let his voice rise with the fear that the amount of love poured into his words might just break down the whole house. “I can’t even tell you how much.”

Peter smiles, a bright, wonderful thing that nearly blinds him. And maybe they both have developed these supernatural love powers.

“I think I might have a clue.”

“You would,” Tony says seriously. Then, lips quirking into a slightly teasing smirk, “You’re smart like that.”

“Is this house big enough to fit two geniuses you think?”

“Just about.”

“And we can’t forget about Olive, she’s getting scary smart.”

Tony laughs warmly, kisses Peter’s hair and lingers, the smell of his shampoo filling his lungs. He honestly can’t fathom how he got so lucky but is determined to just take it when it’s offered and _enjoy_.

“You’re quite something, Peter.”

He feels Peter’s smile stretching across his chest, cool lips against his warm skin.

“You’re quite something yourself, Anthony.”

Tony gasps in outrage like Peter had intended, a grin spreading uncontrollably across his face with the playfulness of it.

“No name calling!”

Peter delves into laughter which only grows when Tony attacks him with merciless tickles. It’s absolutely ridiculous and Tony would’ve been appalled at his lack of coolness at any other time, but right now he thinks this moment — Peter squirming against him, putting up a pitiful fight against Tony’s fingers, his laughter echoing through Tony’s bones — might just be the most wonderful thing.

Somehow, they end up laughing in bed like a couple of absolute maniacs, both of them breathless and wheezing and holding their stomachs, and Tony thinks that if every night ends up like this that he will live the rest of his life with complete joy.


	6. Chapter 6

Gamora calls in the middle of an otherwise boring Wednesday afternoon.

Tony is busy tinkering in his home lab, Olive huddled away in the corner dressing up DUM-E and U with an array of things Tony has no idea how they even ended up in the house let alone her possession. He suspects Clint — the damned pinkest tutu to ever tutu has Hawkeye written all over it. Literally. There’s an ever brighter collection of glittered letters spelling out the traitor’s moniker very clearly.

Tony hadn’t even known they’d delved into those types of merchandise in their year and a half absence, but he makes a point to make sure that his Iron Man merchandise is way cooler than Hawkeye’s. And decidedly less bright pink.

FRIDAY projects the holo call right in front of Tony with barely any time for him to adjust. Gamora flickers into view from one moment to the next, face as impassive as ever.

Tony pulls out the screwdriver from his mouth with a grin, leaning back on his swiveling chair and twirling the screwdriver in his fingers.

“What’s up, lime pie? You weren’t supposed to call for another few days. Miss me that much?”

Olive immediately pops her head up at her mother’s projection, running over to Tony’s legs to say hello. Tony picks her up with a smile and she excitedly waves her hand at Gamora.

“Mama! Hey hey.”

It’s her new favorite greeting. Thor came back from Norway with tales of his travels through the Scandinavian peninsula and now Olive greets everyone like a miniature Swedish person. But green, of course.

Gamora’s face softens at the sight but there’s an undercurrent of tension in her that sets Tony’s alarm bells thrumming with attention.

“Hey, Ollie. Are you destroying daddy’s lab again?”

Olive shakes her head with all the seriousness the little demon can muster after having nearly blown up the whole lab just last week. Alright, so maybe it was only a corner of it and it would’ve probably resulted in nothing more than a loud bang. But still. Tony is not impressed with his daughter’s growing resemblance to himself.

“Tutu for Dum dum,” Olive says, chubby little arms gesturing proudly towards her artwork.

“I see.” Gamora’s eyes drift towards the sight of the two robots dancing in the corner, DUM-E with the unmentionable tutu and U with a seriously impressive collection of necklaces dangling loudly from his arm. “Doesn’t he look… festive.”

Olive grins brightly and then squirms her way back down from Tony’s lap to run back to her task with barely a glance back.

Gamora watches her go with a small smile that only serves to highlight the wrongness Tony feels.

“What’s up, G? What’s wrong? Did someone get blown up? Is the Grandmaster out for vengeance?”

Gamora shakes her head, turns back to face him fully, smile slipping from her face.

Yup. Alarm bells going haywire for sure.

“Thanos is on his way to Terra.”

Tony freezes for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I think there might have been a glitch with the intergalactic coms. You said he _what now_?”

Gamora claps her hands behind her back, looking like a soldier ready to report, but the words that come out are anything but the cold cut professional ones she might have uttered once upon a time.

“He has two Infinity Stones already. We got to Knowhere after he’d been there… There’s nothing left, Tony. The whole planet is destroyed. We tried to contact the Nova Corps— They’ve been decimated, the Power Stone is gone. It’s…” Her face crumples for a millisecond before she recovers herself and regards him with solemn gravity. “He is searching for the Soul Stone and then he’s headed to Terra for the other three.”

Tony looks at her silently for an infinite minute, thoughts running wild in disconnected fits of panic and rage and grief. Gamora remains stoic, only the slight downturn of her lips leaving any indication of her own feelings.

“Fucking hell,” Tony finally says, rubbing his hands over his face and quite possibly getting smudges of oil all over it.

When he chances a look back at Gamora, fingers wrapped around his screwdriver so tightly that he’s sure there’ll be an imprint left behind, she finally folds under the immensity of the situation and her face sinks.

“This is bad, Tony. Very, very bad.”

“Yeah, no shit, green bean. That asshole already tried to destroy our planet with an army of freaking Chitauri, and he would’ve easily succeeded if I hadn’t gifted him with a nuke.”

“It’s worse now. His army has only grown, both stronger and larger. And he has two stones in his possession already. The Power Stone alone…. It nearly killed us all just touching it.”

Tony nods sharply, drums his fingers over his nonexistent arc reactor-cum-nanobot container.

“What can we do then?” he asks. He doesn’t share any of his doubts or fears because there is no other option besides them kicking the bastard’s ass all the way to the other side of the universe.

He’s already thinking about all the ideas and contingency plans he’d come up with before and since Ultron and mentally categorizing everything they have in their arsenal — both weapons and people — to throw at him.

There is only one acceptable outcome. Tony won’t even let himself think otherwise.

Olive squeals in happiness and his resolve only settles.

Gamora gives him a knowing look before nodding firmly, straightening her back, and saying, “We’re on our way back. We’re gathering as many allies as we can to fight him. It’ll take us a bit longer, about five weeks I think, with the detours.”

“Alright. Let’s start working on a plan.”

* * *

The news that Thanos is on his way to Earth is taken about as well as could be expected. After all the chaos, however, everyone very quickly starts preparing for a New York-style battle on steroids.

There is no time to waste with worrying about the very real possibility of them losing — Tony went to the other side of that portal with the nuke, he saw the immensity of Thanos’ army, and it having only grown larger is not the slightest bit reassuring.

Apart from his barely hidden fears and his cynical outtake on life, Tony can’t deny that it’s inspiring to see everyone coming together with the same purpose, setting disagreements to the side in favor of reaching the same goal. Heck, even the various governments have been convinced to let them join armies in order to fight a common enemy.

Tony is under no illusion that if, for some miraculous reason, they win, everyone will remain perfectly cordial friends. However, he thinks that it might plant some seedlings of goodwill, and that’s a good start as any.

Tony himself, on the other hand, is painfully struggling with one issue.

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No, seriously, Pete, I really can’t.”

Peter levels him with an impressive look. “Never thought I’d hear the great Tony Stark saying there’s something he can’t do.”

And yeah, alright. Ouch. That one actually hurt.

Tony groans out in frustration. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says, although, yes, maybe it is, very deep down in the depths of his hateful insecurities. “I just seriously can’t.”

Peter’s look turns into one of patient challenge. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his chin up, regarding Tony with unnerving calm.

“Why not?”

Tony tugs on his hair with one hand, the other drumming away on the worktable, unfocused eyes on the holoscreen in front of him.

“You know I haven’t put on the suit since we were zapped up to E.T.’s mothership.”

A flash of something passes behind Peter’s eyes, sympathy or quite close to it, before the stubborn resolve settles again.

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean you can’t do it, Tony.”

Tony sighs heavily. He darts a glance at Peter before resuming his pitiful imitation of being busy.

“I have a freaking chunk of muscle missing from my leg, Pete.” He helpfully gestures to it, just in case Peter has somehow forgotten. “I do my best impression of Dr. House hopping around the Compound these days, do you seriously think I can get on the suit and actually fight in it?”

“Have you tried?” Peter asks, sounding entirely uncharitable.

Tony glares at the projection, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I just know I can’t do it, I don’t need to have it rubbed in my face, thanks.”

“That’s quitting.” Tony peripherally sees Peter stepping closer, his arms uncrossed now and one hand coming to rest on Tony’s bicep, almost hesitantly. Softer, he says, “You’ve never let anything hold you back, Tony, not even when there was a literal hole in your chest.”

Tony sighs again, this time less belligerent and more resigned.

“It’s different. I don’t… It’s just different.”

Peter’s hand travels up, fingers carding through Tony’s hair, presumably fixing the mess Tony’s own fingers had caused. The tenderness of the action make something in Tony twinge.

Tony refuses to look at him, however, studiously determined to pretend he’s actually doing some tweaking with the newest weapon’s blueprint. He stubbornly ignores the fact that Peter obviously knows real work from this useless back and forth Tony’s fingers have been doing over the holo screen.

It’s just… Tony never thought he’d ever willingly stop being Iron Man. Ever since he escaped from that desert cave in a blaze of furious glory, he and the suit have been one and the same. _I am Iron Man_ , he’s said, over and over. And it was true, then. It’s true now too, maybe, but…

The last time he was in the suit he’d failed spectacularly. Worse than at any other time previously. Failed so badly that they’d been swept away and sold as slaves into the faraway corners of the galaxy.

The irony is he remembers telling Peter that if he was nothing without the suit then he shouldn’t have it. Tony had always been something without the suit — brilliant enough to get himself out of any situation with only his wits and whatever limited resources were available. But not this time.

So, really, what does that make him?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the mere thought of having his body covered with nanobots once more fills him with dread so profound he breaks out in cold sweats.

And the hindrance of the leg isn’t just an excuse either.

Tony still hurts, every single day. His leg aches painfully, a constant thrum that lets him know he’s just a little bit more broken. His chest with the broken and poorly repaired bones, his left arm which has been numb for years, the countless scars spattering his skin. And now the leg.

And it is worse when he does anything strenuous, that wasn’t a lie either. He honestly cannot even begin to imagine pulling off some of the moves he used to be able to do with his leg as it is now.

Could he try to work around it? Probably. He is Tony Stark, after all. But the bone-deep dread that courses through him prevents him from inventing any such adaptability.

Jolting Tony out of his thoughts, Peter’s arms wrap around him from behind, warm and comforting, and Tony feels himself leaning into the embrace unconsciously.

“It’s okay, Tony. You don’t— I don’t want to push you, babe.” He presses a soft kiss to Tony’s cheek, lingers for a second before hugging him tighter and then making his way around to stand in between Tony’s legs. “If you want to officially retire the Iron Man… We’ll throw you a retirement party, or something, I’m sure Thor would love the opportunity to have a feast,” he says, goofy smile beckoning Tony out of his shell.

Tony offers him a small smile in return which grows less fearful as Peter’s thumb starts caressing his hair again.

“As if Thor’s the only one itching for a party,” he says, some of that old sass coming back.

Peter grins breezily, as if he has no idea what Tony is talking about.

“Do you wanna keep working on my suit, then? I have some ideas I wanted to run by you…”

“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling at him gratefully. “Let’s get you the coolest suit ever.”

* * *

The Guardians arrive right on time in late January, no unexpectedly helpful hyperspace jumps on this trip.

The Benatar lands on a pile of fluffy snow and the Guardians step out with mixed reactions, varying from Mantis giving a surprised squeak before starting to shiver, to Groot jumping on his tippy roots as fast as he can all the way inside, not even sparing Tony, Olive, and Peter a glance, to Drax joyfully bending down to scoop some snow in his hands before forming a ball and tossing it right at Quill’s face.

Tony hurries them all inside with a laugh which only grows louder once they get in and Rocket shakes the snow off his fur and sprays them all with ice-cold water.

Tony hugs the hell out of Gamora, and even Nebula succumbs to his unwavering charm. Olive thrills happily, jumping from her mother’s arms to her aunt’s, then to Groot and Mantis and Drax and Quill, and even Rocket lets himself get commandeered into picking her up — a funny sight considering she’s almost as big as him now but a fact Olive doesn’t seem to care about at all.

When they get all the greetings done and the ship unloaded, Tony is treated to a sight that leaves him a bit gaping and, frankly, with an undeniable science boner. He honestly feels a bit sorry for the damage some of those weapons will cause on their enemies but he cannot wait to get his hands on all of that tech.

The feeling passes immediately, however, when Nebula recounts her spying mission and her estimations for the size of Thanos’ army.

Tony claps his hands, jittery energy thrumming through his body.

“Alright, then. Meeko, Blueberry, Spideroo, you’re with me. Let’s see what we can do with all these presents you brought us.”

The four of them join Bruce in the lab, holographs up and displaying Shuri’s lab in Wakanda, and they immediately get to work.

The Guardians managed to get them a pretty good haul of weapons, but they’re obviously not nearly enough considering the size of Thanos’ army, so Tony wants to reverse engineer as many as he can and then build similar ones and pass those on to their fighters.

It’s tiring but exhilarating work, and they spend hours and hours in the lab, rattling off theories and jokes with the same ease, the constant sound of machines whirring the background.

“You know,” Shuri says on their third afternoon together. “This would probably be much faster if at least half of you came over here. We have much better technology for this type of thing.”

Tony can’t even argue her point to defend his pride because it is actually true. And the kid is brilliant — smarter than him, even, which he surprisingly feels giddy about rather than annoyed.

Tony peers at her through bleary eyes, her holo projection flickering in and out of focus which probably has more to do with his tiredness than with the low quality of the call. They’ve been going at it pretty much non-stop since the Guardians arrived, the constant threat of Thanos’ imminent arrival fueling their manic work spree.

Tony pushes his glasses to the top of his head and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Who wants to go to Wakanda?”

Immediately, Bruce and Peter’s hands fly to the air, both of them wearing matching expressions of geeky eagerness which make Tony chuckle.

Rocket shrugs and says, “If she’s got more advanced stuff than you then I definitely want to see it.”

Tony looks to Nebula who is so absorbed with dismantling a Kree grenade blaster that she doesn’t even seem to have heard a thing.

“Alright then. I’ll give the wizard a call and see if he can send your nerdy asses over to warmer lands later today. How long do you want them there for?” he asks, definitely not because he still can’t quite sleep well without Peter with him. Not at all.

“At least three days,” Shuri says. “Bring me some of those weapons so I can have a proper look at them and we should be much faster.”

Tony nods, sends Peter a reassuring smile when he’s met with eagerness the likes of which Tony hasn’t seen in a while.

This is good, he tells himself. This is Peter going back to his old nerdy self, always excited about the next coolest thing.

“Deal. Fri, call Strange for me, please.”

“Calling, boss.”

“Stark,” Strange says, grumpy as ever.

Tony smiles even though it’s not a video call and explains the situation to him.

“Fine. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be there to open a portal. But don’t think you can just use me like a Lift, this better not become a thing,” he adds before hanging up without another word.

Tony grins at his companions, arms in a wide, generous arch. “Get your PJs and toothbrushes ready, kids, you’re having a sleepover.”

* * *

Tony puts up with the new work changes with a considerable amount of grace, if he says so himself. He and Nebula are a great team. Seriously. They’re perfectly fine on their own.

No, but, actually, they really are. And Peter and the rest of the nerd gang are doing great in Wakanda what with more hands on deck and Shuri having commandeered a bunch of her brother’s scientists solely for weapons development.

So it’s fine. Tony’s smile is not strained, his mind doesn’t go places it has no business going, and he can sleep perfectly well at night.

Except when Shuri suggests they stay a few more days, Tony thinks there might have been a few newly acquired hairline fractures to his hands from holding onto the chair so hard. Just a couple, certainly no big deal.

And the thing is, Olive is doing perfectly fine, unlike last time. Peter calls just before bed and reads her a new story every day from this children’s book he got in Wakanda and Olive babbles along until she falls asleep, sweet and sound. Peaceful.

Tony, on the other hand, has probably spent more hours in the lab than is humanly advisable.

But it’s fine. Everything is great. They have shit to do, a universe to save, he doesn’t have the time to deal with his traumas. Isn’t he paying someone for that?

Maybe he should get a refund, he considers grumpily, when even Nebula’s newly acquired deadpan sense of humor fails to elicit more than a grunt from him.

Mantis simply refuses to be in the same room as him now because the last time, on just the second day of the Wakandan expedition, Tony’s mood had been so down in the dumps that she’d taken one step close to him and then sprinted away crying. Drax had sent him a vicious glare that promised painful retribution as he followed her.

Tony sighs despondently for probably the millionth time today, then immediately curses a blue streak and sucks his index finger when he electrocutes himself on some pretty delicate wiring he should probably have been paying much closer attention to.

He glares sulkily at his finger, pink covering the tip and already starting to turn darker. Great, he thinks, another injury. At least it was on his left hand which is already pretty numb in general to match the whole arm.

Hmm, come to think of it, it probably means it would’ve hurt much more if the nerve damage wasn’t there which means— yup, definitely already red and with a blister forming.

Wonderful. Truly, what a perfect day.

Tony throws his tools onto the counter with perhaps more force than would be recommended when handling alien technology with a tendency to explode. Nebula doesn’t even deign to indulge his mood with anything more than a single glance to make sure he’s not about to blow up the lab before returning her attention back to welding.

Tony sighs again and tucks his whole hand under the tap, cold water feeling like a relief.

He must make a seriously pitiful sight but he seriously can’t help it. Being without Peter for six whole days _sucks_.

The door slides open with barely a sound, but Tony looks up immediately because there’re only a few people allowed in without FRIDAY announcing them first — and one of them is on a whole other continent.

Gamora walks in with Olive propped on her hip, babbling away at a speed reminiscent of Peter in one of his overly excited rants. Gamora nods and smiles appropriately, a fond look softening her features, and Olive doesn’t even seem to care that it’s quite the one-sided conversation as she tugs on a red strand of her mom’s hair when the excitement grows.

Tony’s mood is immediately uplifted.

Gamora smiles knowingly, passing Olive into his arms when they reach him.

“A little bat told me you were in a fudge.”

“A bird,” he distractedly says, too busy getting a good sniff of Olive’s hair like the addict he is. She squeals and laughs but smacks a wet kiss on his cheek anyways. “And I’m not in a funk.” Glaring at the nearest camera he says, “Snitches get their servers scavenged for scraps to be used as cannon fodder for Thanos’ goons.”

“It’s an honorable purpose,” FRIDAY counters superiorly, to which Tony can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, still don’t know where all this sass comes from.”

“It’s inherited,” FRIDAY says, all kinds of smug and this time Tony smiles wildly because, yeah, it totally is.

“Like father like daughters,” Gamora says, lips turned up at the corner.

“My niece will be much greater than this mopping excuse for a man.”

Tony turns to Nebula who hasn’t even looked up at them, fingers slow and steady on her tools, the protective goggles Tony had forced on her resting uselessly on her forehead while sparks fly all over her face.

“That’s it,” he declares, “No more specially delivered chocolate truffles for you, mean berry.” He huffs, nibbling playfully on Olive’s earlobe. “Do you see how they treat me, Ollie? In my own house?”

“Not house, Daddy.”

“Figure of speech, Ollie pie. Plus, Daddy’s money built this whole Compound, so technically, all mine.”

Olive makes a little O with her mouth, considering him and then her aunt for a moment.

“Sharing caring,” she concludes very seriously, which Tony can only respond with a firm nod in response, biting his lip not to laugh.

“Of course, baby. I’ll share with Aunty Nebula.”

Olive’s returning smile is blinding and yeah, bad mood is definitely gone now.

“Thanks, mint leaf,” he says, giving Gamora a smile while he enjoys cuddle time with his little girl.

She sits on the table, settling in one of the few places unoccupied by Tony’s haphazard spread of alien weapons. Her feet dangle carelessly and she tosses her hair back, hands resting on the table and body leaning backwards, completely at ease.

“You were sulking,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Our best engineer is no good to us when he’s sulking. And sleep-deprived,” she adds as an aside, eyes flashing in pointed assessment before settling back to relaxation.

Tony curls Olive’s hair around his fingers with one hand, the other rubbing her back idly. At least Gamora brought gifts for his slaughter.

“I can’t sleep alone, G, you know that,” he says quietly, eyes firmly set on a loose wire that had slipped his fingers before and landed on the floor and he’d been too tired to care about. The bots have been sequestered away in their docks, absolutely forbidden to come out while all the dangerous weapons are out, which explains why the wire has been there for two days.

Well, at least it’s currently way more interesting to look at than Gamora’s face.

Gamora is quiet, feet still dangling. Nebula keeps welding, a few muttered curses interspaced here and there.

Tony finally lifts his eyes back up and is met with a look of complete understanding and compassion.

“Why don’t you go sleep over in Wakanda? Your wizard can make one of those portals.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, it’s not really fair to use Strange like an Uber, he’s super busy getting all the magic shit ready. Although I think he’d probably be happy if I call him an Uber Black. But no, I can’t ask him that. And also, time zones, you know? It’s a seven-hour difference.”

Gamora considers him for a second before shrugging. “Fair enough. Show me your progress.”

Tony does just that, feeling frankly a bit better to know that he has people that care about him enough to notice and ask. Olive has fallen asleep on his shoulder, which leads Tony to check the time and realize it’s already past 8 pm and he hasn’t even had lunch.

Stomach rumbling, he drags Nebula out of the lab, both of them blinking like bats at the brighter light in the lounge area. Gamora rolls her eyes at them and hollers for the rest of the gang to get dinner ready while Tony goes to drop off Olive in bed.

Dinner is nice — Bucky cooked again, a mutton biryani which honestly tastes pretty close to the authentic; Tony thinks the guy’s wasted on the ex-assassin business — and the whole gang crowds the living room, perched on whatever spot they can find.

Tony and Rhodey have permanent dibs on the good chairs thanks to their seniority — read: injuries, but saying that doesn’t sound nearly as dignified somehow. Groot picks the meet out of his plate and feeds it to Rocket and Drax alternatingly. Mantis is in deep conversation with Vision and Loki, who came over to do Tony’s not sure what. Thor isn’t even here and neither is Strange. He’s not sure he wants to know, come to think of it.

Clint has his feet on Steve’s lap, uncaring that Steve is using his legs as a makeshift tray. Quill and Scott are deep into a conversation which can only result in a little too much chaos for what is probably safe even for a bunch of superheroes. Nebula, Gamora, and Wanda are all in a corner, talking in between stolen glances at the rest of them, probably conspiring against their demise. Tony really doesn’t want to know.

Bucky is on the floor, leaning against Natasha’s legs with an ease which speaks to a comfort level Tony wasn’t aware they shared.

He elbows Rhodey excitedly, tilting his head towards his target.

“Are the Russian assassins a thing? Should we be worried? Do you think they’ll wake up one day and decide we’re all to much to handle and they’ll kill us in our sleep?”

Bucky snorts loudly, which lets Tony know his stage whisper had managed to pierce some of the cacophony of noises.

Tony grins at him brightly and is pleased to see a small blush on his cheeks. He turns to Rhodey, excitement brimming in him.

“Sour patch! They are totally a thing! How did I not know this? Look at them, they’re adorably ice cold together. Aww.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes at him but he’s also smiling so Tony doesn’t take him seriously.

“Your observation skills just aren’t what they used to be, man. You’re old.”

Tony gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you. I’m younger than you!”

“Mhm. And yet I’ve known they’re together for the past three— Four? Yeah, four months.”

Tony’s gasp turns louder and more honest.

“I can’t even believe this. Tashy-poo! How could you? I’m your best pall—”

“Yeah, no, that’s me,” Clint interjects. Tony breezily ignores him.

“—I make you beautifully dangerous weapons, I braid your hair all pretty, and this is how you repay me?” He shakes his head despondently. “Shredded, I’m telling you. My heart is shredded.”

Natasha simply rolls her eyes, by now having caught up with what Tony’s on about. As have most of the rest of the gang, a bunch of them snickering at Tony’s antics.

“And this is why you leave the spying to the professionals, Tony.”

Tony pouts but then he takes in the sight of them — Bucky leaning even further back into her legs, Natasha eating with one hand while the other plays with his hair, a peaceful look to both their features — and then he smiles.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. But I want all the details.” She quirks a brow at him and his smile turns wolfish. “Yup. _All_ the details.”

Rhodey smacks him upside the head which has them all laughing. “Unless you’re planning on sharing, you don’t get to ask about that.”

“Oh, you think I won’t share? Platypus, I have an established career as a porn star under my belt, and let me tell you — this,” he says, motioning up and down over his body, “Is the money maker. King of the show. I brought in the viewers, baby.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes again and Tony’s treated to an equal amount of groans and laughter from the rest of them.

“Pretty sure the whole world’s seen enough of that, Stark, no need to share the details,” Clint drawls.

“The universe,” Tony cheerfully corrects him. “Don’t you dare downplay my achievements, Barton.”

“Stark’s prowess in the bedroom was widespread,” Drax says seriously, shoving forkfuls of fluffy rice and mutton in his mouth. “The was one particular scene which played—”

“Ah ah ah, that’s alright, Drax, they all get the picture,” Quill interrupts, sending Tony a guilty and apprehensive look.

Truthfully, months ago Tony would’ve already been in a downward spiral of misery even thinking about their enslavement, but now he finds himself more and more making a joke here and there, remembering something and voluntarily talking about it, even something as small as that one food they’d always fight about and Gamora would always win because she’d been pregnant.

Not closure, exactly, but something steadily on its way. The trauma will always be there, he thinks, no matter how much time has passed. But he feels better. He _is_ better. Apart from the obvious issues with sleeping and perhaps a bit more codependency than what is healthy, he thinks he’s doing quite alright.

He’s a survivor. They’re all survivors, every single person in this room. Tony wonders if sharing his recovery with them while knowing they can empathize has helped more than he’d realized.

“I wanna know the deets,” Scott says eagerly, scraping his plate clean. “It’s Iron Man’s junk, guys.”

There’s another chorus of equal parts groans and laughs and Tony laughs louder than all of them.

“Oh, man, I wanna see you repeat that in front of Peter. Please, _please_ say that again when he’s here.” He wipes a tear from his eye, plate balancing precariously on his lap. He takes another bite of the truly magnificent dish and moans in appreciation. “Seriously, Nat, you scored the jackpot.” He points at his food with his fork, waving it around before digging in for effect. “This is amazing, Barnes. Like, ridiculously good. Like, good enough that I’d seriously snatch you if you didn’t have Nat.”

“And if you didn’t have Peter, I think you meant to add,” Rocket says.

Tony takes another bite, closing his eyes in appreciation. “Nah. Peter would get it. He’d definitely tell me to go for it. Priorities, you know?”

“In your dreams, Stark,” Natasha says, all sharp smiles and dangerous edges. Which, wow, yeah, she’s joking but she’s also not which tells Tony all he needs to know about how serious she is about Bucky.

His smile widens and softens. “Alright, fine. I’ll settle for having him come cook for us a few times in exchange for playtime with Olive.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Tony,” Steve says around a playful smile.

Bucky shrugs, cheeks flushed from all the attention but he keeps his eyes steadily on them with obvious determination. “That’s the easiest deal I’ve ever made. Olive is the best.”

Tony grins. “Obviously.”

Rhodey points a menacing finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you try to steal my spot as favorite uncle, Barnes. I’m watching you.”

Bucky raises his hands in peace, plate balanced perfectly on his knees.

“I will help you defend your honor, Jim,” Nebula says, suddenly on high alert.

Tony can already picture a fight between Nebula and Bucky and, though it would be undeniably exciting, one of both of them might end up with more mechanical limbs than they’d started with.

“No need, blue moon, Olive knows who her favorites are.”

Nebula settles back, seemingly placated, though Rhodey sends one last playful glare in Bucky’s direction which has them all chuckling.

“I feel like a drug dealer,” Tony jokes. “I created the best product on the market.”

Gamora coughs pointedly and Tony hurries to amend.

“ _We_. I meant we. And by we I mean I didn’t really do much at all, merely a one night job kind of thing.”

“Two seconds,” Clint fake coughs.

Tony flips him off. “You’re off the baby drug list now. I’m putting you on probation.”

Clint spends the rest of the night pleading with him with increasingly outlandish attempts at bribery. Only when Tony retires to his room does he realize he never once felt sad during dinner, even with Peter’s absence being so noticeable.

Naturally, being alone in his room with a king-sized bed all to himself is a sharp reminder of his struggles. It’s not their usual bed, of course, but it’s where they both sleep when they’re at the Compound. It wouldn’t matter, probably, if Tony had gone to a hotel. He doesn’t think sleep would come any easier in a foreign bed. The opposite maybe.

With a heavy sigh, Tony makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed, checks on Olive through FRIDAY one last time, applies some of the medicine on his leg — Gamora managed to bring one more bottle but that’s all, Xandar had been quite destroyed — and then runs out of things to do to delay sleep.

Just when he’s about to ask FRIDAY to dim the lights, there’s a quick rap on the door and then it opens before he says anything otherwise.

It’s not like he’s completely naked or anything.

Gamora walks in, completely uncaring of his nudity, and starts stripping herself.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, mildly curious.

He sits up a bit more against the headboard, hand absently massaging the last of the ointment into the skin. He doesn’t bother making a move to cover himself, it’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked hundreds of times.

Gamora seems to be of the same opinion because she is now stripped down to nothing but her panties and very casually makes her way onto the bed, sitting down on Peter’s side and turning her back to him.

“Braid it for me, will you? It’s getting too long, gets everywhere when I sleep.”

Tony quietly obeys, scooting forward and falling into the familiar routine of splitting her hair into three parts, the soft strands slippery but tamable with some patience. He makes it a loose French braid, remembering how annoying it was to sleep with a thick rope of hair under his nape.

It goes without saying that she’s perfectly capable of braiding her own hair. In fact, she’s the one that taught Tony how to braid in the first place, back when they’d been stuck in a room and he’d been up to learning about every new thing possible to stave off the boredom. He doesn’t question her request at all, however, perfectly content to fall into the soothing habit of taking care of someone he cares about.

“Why don’t you let Mantis trim it for you?”

She lifts an elegant shoulder. “Peter likes it long.”

Tony smiles fondly, extending his hand for an elastic and then finishing it up.

Gamora thanks him and slips under the covers as if everything is perfectly ordinary. Tony stays seated, blinking at her in confusion.

“You’re sleeping here?”

She’s already got her eyes closed and yet still manages to look unimpressed with his apparent slow intake.

“Obviously. FRIDAY, lights please.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like to sleep with the lights on.”

“No,” Tony says slowly, feeling very foolish indeed. “Why are you sleeping here.”

“Because you can’t sleep alone,” she says, as if it’s the perfectly obvious solution.

Tony falls back onto the mattress with a huffed, “Huh.”

“Night, Tony.”

Tony tilts his head a bit, just enough to see her shadowed silhouette, hear her soft breathing, still too shallow to be asleep but purposeful enough to let Tony know her cavalier attitude is her making a point out of not making this into a _thing_.

Tony feels warmth bloom in his aching heart for his friend, spreading from his chest to the rest of his body until it reaches his toes. She left her perfectly comfortable bed with her perfectly annoying boyfriend to come make sure Tony could get a good night’s sleep. If that’s not best friend material, he doesn’t know what is.

“Night, Gamora,” he whispers, and then she really does fall asleep.

Soon after, so does he.

* * *

“Should I feel threatened?”

Tony blinks awake to Peter standing by the door, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked up in amusement.

Tony only has the time to smile at him like a loon before Gamora grumbles out a muffled, “Yes. Let me sleep or I’ll rip your tongue out with my teeth and stuff it in your ears.”

Tony snorts out a laugh, already getting up and walking into Peter’s arms.

“He meant if he should be jealous.”

“Why?” Gamora lifts her head just enough to give them a bleary-eyed glare. “I already have a Peter, I don’t need a second one.”

“Go back to sleep, green bean.” Tony pulls out of Peter’s arms and gives him a quick peck interrupted by a wide smile. “You’re here.”

“I am.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the surprise, but why are you here?” Tony whispers quietly, wanting to avoid an angry Gamora. Yesterday she’d woken up when Rhodey had come knocking — read, banging — on the door and she’d not been impressed. “I thought you said you’d be a few more days?”

Tony makes his way to the en suite, Peter following in tow.

“I did, but then I realized that I’m a family man now and I can’t be away from home from so long,” Peter says, looking utterly serious in the mirror’s reflection except for that small twitch in his lips.

Tony glares at him playfully, toothbrush making his words come out a bit disjointed. “So, not because you missed me.”

Peter waves his hand in a so-so motion. “Eh. Maybe a bit?”

Tony flicks some water at him and Peter grins brightly, giving in easily.

“Yeah, alright. I missed you like crazy. And Olive, I can’t wait to give her a hug.”

“She’ll wake up any time now.”

Tony rinses his mouth one last time, splashing a bit of cold water on his face to help him wake up. It doesn’t detract from the tiredness his reflection shoves in his face but it’s a start.

Peter doesn’t seem to mind the sight of him one bit — the opposite probably if the smirk in the mirror is anything to go by. Tony turns around, leaning on the marble, and watches Peter expectantly.

“Yeah. So does that mean I have time for this?” Peter takes a step forward, lower body pressed right into Tony’s very much still naked one. He leans in, smile breaking through the teasing as he brushes his lips to Tony’s. “Maybe just a little bit of time?”

Tony pulls him in for a kiss that leaves them both breathless, hands tugging at Peter’s waist to pull him even closer so he can feel as much of his body as possible.

Gosh, he missed him.

And feeling his hard body first thing in the morning is… well. Tony should probably not think too much about that when Gamora is sleeping just next-door and Olive will be waking up soon.

But he’ll be damned if it’s not a Herculean task.

“I’m glad you’re back, Pete.”

Peter’s smile grows impossibly wide. “Me too. Let’s not do this anytime soon, okay? I really did try to be just all into the geek but it fucking sucked,” he says with feeling.

Tony hums in agreement. “But you had fun, right?”

Peter nods, forehead brushing against Tony’s, his hair tickling a bit. “Yeah, loads. Their technology is so amazing, so ridiculously advanced. And Shuri is absolutely brilliant, you know? Well, yeah, of course you do, so you totally get it.” Tony nods, a small smile in place. Peter sighs. “But I also missed you like crazy and the nights were just… Yeah. No. Totally not fun.”

Tony smoothes his thumbs over Peter’s cheeks, pulls him in for another, softer kiss, tongues playing languidly, enjoying each other’s taste.

“I obviously have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony teases when he pulls back, putting on a playfully serious face. “Not like I needed scary assassin women to come sleep with me or anything.”

Peter chuckles, hands falling down to Tony’s waist and rubbing idle circles that are just this side of too firm. Possessive, Tony would think, if it were anyone other than him.

“Yeah. Should I be worried about Olive getting a sibling?”

Tony smacks him playfully and Peter snickers into his shoulder, smothering the noise so they don’t get a fuming Gamora crashing into the bathroom with daggers in tow.

“Yeah, yeah, tease your boyfriend —” he makes an unavoidable face at the term that still displeases him, then powers through, “— about his PTSD, you heartless monster. I see how it is.”

Peter hums into his shoulder, turns his head on the side so his breath is coming out in small puffs against Tony’s neck.

“Maybe I’ve been using Bruce as my own cuddle buddy, you don’t know. I’m totally into geeky charm and I’m _super_ into big hulking green dudes. Just saying.”

Tony wraps his arms around Peter’s lower back and holds him tight.

“Brucie bear deserves all the cuddles, so that’d be fine.”

They both snort in matching amusement and then fall silent, enjoying the feel of each other’s arms. Tony’s eyes fall shut of their own volition, Peter’s scent filling his lungs and making him feel like he’s finally home.

Damn, he’s so gone on him it’s a little bit absurd.

“Good second try, though, right?” Tony asks eventually, still refusing to let any space come between them. “Way better than the first.”

He feels Peter nod, nose rubbing against Tony’s neck. “Better. Not great, but… better. We are totally kicking PTSD ass.”

“Wait until we tell Tamara and Raj. Think they’ll bake us cookies or something? Is there like a chip we get for achievements? Hey! That’s a brilliant idea, I definitely want a chip for every milestone I pass.”

Peter nods enthusiastically. “Definitely a chip. With glitter, I want mine with loads of glitter just because then I’ll show it to everyone and they’ll be literally stuck with the proof of how much better I’m getting. Oh, and I’m so into the cookies. We should get cookies.”

Tony nods decisively. “Bucky owes me for Olive snuggles, I’ll get him to bake us cookies.”

Peter pulls back, an amused look on his face.

“Are we using our baby as currency now?”

Tony nods seriously. “Obviously. She’s like a drug, Pete, there’s no way we’re not capitalizing on that. How’d you think I became a billionaire? I’ve got fantastic business acumen, baby.”

“We should get cookies for our amazing parenting skills as well. Add that to the list.”

“FRIDAY, you heard the man.”

“On it. Also, the little miss is starting to stir, she should be awake in a few minutes.”

Peter’s smile grows wide and bright and utterly breathtaking. Tony waves him away, already walking into the shower.

“Go get your hit of the awesome baby drugs, I’ll join you in a bit.”

* * *

Even with happiness infusing his every cell at having Peter back, there’s still the little permanent buzz of fear in the back of his mind that tends to get louder and harder to ignore the closer they approach D-day. Whenever that is. And isn’t that the biggest part of the problem?

They have absolutely no idea when exactly Thanos will show up. The Guardians have been back on Earth for going on two weeks, allies they managed to convince to help fight Thanos have been popping up every other day and scaring the living breath out of the UN Security Council, but Thanos himself is still a no-show.

Do alien warlords hellbent on destroying the universe enjoy taking the scenic route?

Apparently so.

Or maybe getting the Soul Stone has proven a bit harder than anticipated. Tony has no idea. All he knows is that the actual waiting part is, as always, the absolute worst.

On the bright side — a small, intermittently blinking bright side — meeting other aliens and checking out their ships and weapons is just _so cool_. Tony’s been definitely popping a science boner every hour or so, huddled away in his lab with Peter and the rest of the nerd squad, now all back from Wakanda, and all of them just living their teenage wet dreams.

Well, Nebula and Rocket definitely don’t count, and not just because they’re huge party poopers. Obviously, actually being aliens who live in space and are more than used to all kinds of awesome technology makes them a bit less enthused about the whole thing.

Tony, Peter, and Bruce cheerfully ignore them in their pursuit of scientific curiosity. Even Scott and Hope join them a few times in the geek squad. Good times those. Tony could get used to the whole thing if it weren’t for homicidal maniacs trying to kill all of them.

Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

Apart from getting to play with all his new toys, Tony’s been working on upgrading Peter’s suits — emphasis on the plural. There is no way in hell he’s letting Peter be stranded again without a suit.

Nope. This time Tony has contingency plan after contingency plan. There are two bracelets on Peter at all times, one Iron Spider suit in each. There’s another suit on standby to be delivered via drone if it ever becomes necessary.

Tony hopes to hell that it never will be, but it’s better to be prepared.

As for himself… well.

There’s a suit. More than one, actually, although both of them are very carefully hidden so Peter doesn’t find out.

It’s not that Tony doesn’t trust him. Not at all. It’s just that… Peter will read more into it than there is to read and then he’ll be all happy grins and joyful praise and Tony does so not want to deal with that.

The suits are just another precaution. That’s all. If everything else fails, if the rest of the team absolutely needs him — if _Peter_ needs him — then he wants to have the option available.

The fact that he has two new suits with a few added adjustments catering to a particular leg injury and more weaponry than ever is… neither here nor there, he decides. Simply another precaution.

It won’t be needed, he tells himself constantly, fear drenching his body in ice. They have a perfectly good plan, it will definitely not be needed.

The plan itself is relatively straight-forward, as these things go.

For starters, no one wants a repeat of the New York battle, so they have satellites patrolling the skies for any sight of Thanos’ ship and then they’ll be deploying jets to lure him in if he fails to head by himself to the fighting grounds.

The best place to have an outright battle was an obviously tough decision to make. No one wants their backyard crawling with aliens. In the end, they drew a literal short stick and off to the middle of the Sahara they go.

The idea is that Thanos will be drawn by the stones. Nebula says that with the Power Stone he is now able to track the others, and so all the stones have been relocated to the desert under heavy protection from both Loki’s and Strange’s magic, as well as Wakanda’s and Tony’s technology. There’s also an army there — well, more like a hodgepodge of the world’s armies camped out in tents which probably don’t do a great job at keeping all that sand away.

Tony is not a fan of the desert, for obvious reasons, but it’s not like it was his idea.

The fact that they have to build a base of operations from scratch and equip it with all of their new-found and newly built weapons would be an even bigger pain in the ass if not for Strange’s convenient portals. Tony is still not the biggest fan of magic, but he can certainly see its uses.

In the end, he’s eternally grateful that he won’t have to spend any extra minute eating dust than he has to. It’s all about the little things.

Tony has pretty much all he can do done, with only FRIDAY still running production on more weapons which he’s decided they can never have too much of in this situation. All that’s left is to wait. In the meantime, there’s always more alien technology to get his hands on.

* * *

FRIDAY interrupts Tony’s playtime with Olive at pretty much the same time a portal opens up in the middle of the lounge area.

“Thanos’ ship has entered the stratosphere, boss.”

Strange’s voice calls out from the other side of the portal. “Let’s go, I have more portals to make.”

Tony is frozen for a moment before snapping out of it with a jerk.

“Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, Ollie, we’ll play later, okay? Now Daddy has to go kick some ass and save the day. You be a good girl for Happy, alright?”

He kisses her forehead, hugs her tight enough that she starts to squirm and complain, and then shouts for Happy to get his ass over here and look after his little girl.

“If something happens you keep her safe, Hap, got it? No matter what. Fri, keep an eye out on both of them. I want the Compound on lockdown, all security protocols activated.”

“Got it, boss.”

“We’ll be fine, Tony,” Happy says, but no matter how much confidence and reassurance he tries to display, Tony doesn't miss the tension around his eyes and mouth.

Tony gives them one final look, struggling with every paternal instinct in him against leaving his kid, but in the end there very well might not be anyone left to care for if they don’t kill Thanos.

“Yeah, good. Love you, sweet pea. I’ll see you soon. Stay safe, Happy.”

Strange is waiting for him on the other side, looking on edge but he thankfully doesn’t make a comment about Tony taking longer than he’d have liked. Which, good for him because Tony might have just docked him and that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Peter?” Tony asks immediately.

It’d been just Tony and Happy at the Compound, everyone else has been spending most of their time these last couple of days training in either Wakanda or the desert, getting ready for the fight and familiarizing themselves with the terrain.

“Outside. I made a portal to Wakanda first thing. They’re still coming through.”

Tony follows him outside, heart in his throat. The sight that greets them is nothing short of fantastical.

Miles and miles of barren land have been replaced with well-organized tents to his left, stretching as far as the furthest dunes start to slope up. Instead of them being all uniform, there’s a clear division of separate areas where each army set up camp, greens and yellows and blues and blacks forming little clusters and transforming the whole camp into a kind of patchwork quill.

To his right, there’s the armory, a big tent packed with all of the weapons they’ve managed to gather and the ones they built. There’s already line after line of soldiers collecting their weapons and walking off in formation.

Ahead of them, the empty desert plain stretches for miles and miles. A lot of soldiers are already in place, neat squares and rectangles of disciplined fighters awaiting their orders.

Tony wonders if they’re scared to death.

Thanos’ mothership is a dark spot in the sky, growing bigger and bigger as it approaches.

Tony has been to space. He’s been abducted by aliens on a freaking ship himself and he’s never seen one this big. His heart hammers away in his chest, shivers of dread shooting from his neck down his spine.

Tony and Strange walk out of the base of operations, a big structure with all the technology they will need to keep an eye on the fighting and help from the background.

Strange walks off ahead without a word to join Wong and a few other of their wizard-monks in opening up portal after portal, with more people pouring in and joining the soldiers on stand-by. It’s nearly overwhelming, seeing something of this magnitude in place, watching the world — worlds — come together for one purpose.

There’s run of the mill foot soldiers next to Asgardians, fighter jets next to Xandar’s Star Blasters, Wakandans with their impenetrable shields and superheroes of all sorts. It’s jaw-dropping and awing and Tony hopes that it’s enough.

He looks around but he doesn’t catch sight of Peter, which is not unexpected considering the sheer size of their army and the controlled chaos around the camp. It makes him uneasy, however. He would’ve liked just one moment where he could have Peter in his arms before the world changes, one way or the other.

He considers for a moment just going to look for him, but then Thanos’ ship hovers, looming imposingly just ahead of them, and chaos ensues as, without even a little warning, creatures jump off it with shrill war cries and immediately start running across the desert sands towards them.

Then all hell is set loose.

Tony makes his way back into the tent he's in charge of — with Fury and Hill aboard the Helicarrier and directing civilian support — hands shaking and heart beating painfully against his ribcage.

There’s a flurry of movement inside, tech people all shouting over each other, orders being thrown this way and that in every other language. They look like bees in a frenzy to defend their beehive and Tony stares for a beat, the cacophony of noises making his ears buzz, until he snaps out of it and whistles loudly.

Everyone goes quiet after that. It’s a momentary bliss.

“Alright, everyone. I know this isn't exactly fun but it is what we’ve been training for and you’ve all got this. So take a breath, leave all the fear and doubt out the door, and _focus_. Now, back to work.”

It’s quieter then, though no less tense. Tony figures it’s a good thing anyway, shows they have something to fight for.

Tony heads behind his station, set right in the middle of the tent so he can keep an eye out on everyone. FRIDAY already has the live projections up and running, video images surrounding him in 360º. There’s a swivel chair which is quickly pushed to the side and ignored while Tony paces around in a circle. He puts his earpiece on and is immediately flooded with more noise from his team, Steve barking orders and taking point.

Tony gets to work.

“Alright, everyone, this is your captain speaking, on behalf of all ground crew, we wish you a pleasant fight.”

“Tony, I swear to—”

“On your right, Hawkeye,” Tony says, eyes flying over the video feed rapidly. “Widow, up high. Damn, those motherfuckers can jump. Falcon dive.” The missile flies by right were Sam had been and Tony breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem. Fri, let's deploy some of our own missiles, show them what’s what. Aim for the big fucking ship. Ground crew, control those drones, don’t let them shoot them down.” He receives a chorus of assent from the team around him and is pleased to see them engaging in evasive maneuvers.

On the screen the scene is brutal. Thanos’ army is composed of not only Chitauri but also other alien races Tony has never seen before but which seem only intent on one thing — complete annihilation.

To make matters worse, “Guys watch out! Okay, I say we kick that squid ward in the teeth, what the fuck was that?”

_That_ , was a complete asshole with freaking telekinetic abilities swatting away a large chunk of their troops like they were nothing but flies.

“I got him,” Wanda says, flying over to engage in what looks like an epic battle of creepy magic.

Hulk releases a mighty roar so loud that Tony hears him even without the coms. Then he jumps on a flying whale and _smashes_.

Cap and Bucky are fighting back to back, as are Clint and Natasha. Sam and Rhodey are taking point up high, with Vision swooping in and out of the scene to aid wherever is needed. The Guardians have spread out, Gamora and Quill to the East, Nebula, Drax, and Mantis to the West, Groot and Rocket right in the center.

“We’re ready to kick names and take ass,” Mantis cheerfully yells out, right before jumping on a _huge fucking giant’s head_ and wrapping herself around his head.

Tony cringes but then Drax and Nebula seem to have her back so he turns back to watching the screens.

“Okoye watch out!”

She sees it just in time, a giant piece of debris falling from Hulk’s presumably very smashed flying whale.

She nods and gets back to the fight. Tony breathes a sigh of relief.

In the meantime, the fight is descending into chaos, with Thanos’ army just coming and coming and never stopping and Tony still hasn’t caught a good sight of Peter.

“Spideroo, you better not be fucking dead in a ditch or I’m divorcing your ass,” he says, heart beating wildly while his eyes scan the screens around him for any sight of Peter.

“If this is your way of proposing to me I’m going to have to decline on account of that was fucking lame,” Peter jovially pipes up. “I have standards, you know? A guy deserves to be wooed.”

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief, allowing his eyes to fall closed for just a second. Fuck. Peter’s alive and still well enough to sass him.

Tony snaps his eyes back open, roaming the screens and still not catching any sight of Peter.

“Fri, where the hell is he?”

“Uh, so I may have hitched a ride with one of the flying jet skis?”

“You fucking _what_?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter nonchalantly says, words coming out winded and jerky which do the exact opposite of making Tony not worry. “Just dealing with the assholes from up he— Hey, fucktard, that was _not_ cool. Oh alright, I see how it is—”

“Pete, I swear to sexy Asgardian gods…”

“Gotcha! That’s what you get for— Jeez guys, chill a little bit. Ah ha! Take that.”

Tony presses the bridge of his nose and prays for patience.

“Peter.”

“All good! Seriously. Just on my way up to the big ship now.”

“You _fucking_ _what_?” Tony repeats, feeling very much like a broken record, fingers zooming in on every of those jet ski things he can find in search of him.

“Tony you’re supposed to keep an eye out for us, not engaging in a marital spat,” Steve chides.

Tony sputters out an, “ _Excuse_ —”

“Boss, incoming.”

Tony spins around. “Fuck. Strange, Loki, huge fucking flying whale coming your way.”

“Thanks for the advanced warning, douchebag,” Strange says, sounding mildly strained. Tony watches him spin golden circles and blast at the whale at the same time as Loki conjures up two ice blades out of thin air and goes on a mad killing spree around Strange to defend him.

“Nice work, blueberry.”

“That’s _my_ nickname,” Nebula angrily informs me. “Call him something else.”

“You’re right. Nice work, reindeer games.”

Loki merely grunts and stabs at angry aliens some more.

“Why the hell did you have to choose a place with so much sand,” comes Rocket’s voice in the coms.

Tony spins around to find him and sees he’s climbing on Groot and blasting away indiscriminately with one weapon in each hand, feral grin in place.

“I am Groot.”

“Cut the chit-chat,” Steve says, all disapproving stars and stripes tone.

“You heard the man,” Tony adds, reluctantly pulling his concentration away from the jet skies to focus on the bigger picture. “Keep your eyes on the rabid alien dogs.”

“Alien dogs are much nicer,” Mantis chimes in sounding very sad indeed.

Tony spins around, instructing FRIDAY on finding Peter whom he’s still not been able to see. In the meantime, the battlefield has devolved into complete and utter chaos.

There’s no longer an ours versus yours side of the sand, just an amalgamation of fighters from both sides spread around everywhere. The mothership keeps popping out more and more soldiers, flying whales, and huge fucking giants.

“Scott I'mma need you to go big now,” he says, when one of the giants gets too close to the armory for Tony’s comfort.

“Aw man, I didn’t get the chance for a big breakfast today.”

“Suck it up, big guy, this asshole is getting too close to us for my liking.”

“On it.”

On the screen, FRIDAY flashes a red circle around a tiny speck of blue and red. Currently spinning in the air from one flying whale to the next and heading right for the big fucking ship with all the big bad guys inside.

“Found him, boss.”

“I gathered. Peter, what the fuck.”

“Language,” Natasha teases, slightly out of breath.

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got a plan,” Peter says, disconcertingly optimistic.

Tony grits his teeth and clenches his hands in a fist so tight his nails dig into his skin painfully. He breathes out sharply through his teeth and decides to let it go.

“Any sight of Thanos?”

There’s a chorus of noes in the coms, echoed by FRIDAY.

“His children are giving us a hell of a fight, though. Hey, babe, didn’t you say you and Nebula were the best of Thanos’ children?” Quill quips. “'Cause let me tell you, you guys are good but this asshole can freaking— Goddammit! Not the face dude, that is not cool.”

Tony twirls around to see Quill fighting that squid ward dude — what's his name again? Paw? Jaw? Maw? Ah, yes, Maw — with Wong and Shuri. He’s not sure where Wanda went but he quickly scours the screens, spinning around so quickly it makes him dizzy, and finds her fighting back to back with Vision.

“At least Proxima doesn’t seem to be here,” Gamora snarls. “I hope the bitch got sacrificed for the stupid stone.”

“Uh, guys,” Peter hesitantly calls out. “We might have a problem.”

“Pete?”

“There’s a big purple guy very calmly walking out of the ship and— Yup, he just jumped off like no biggie. Think that’s our guy?”

“Father,” Gamora and Nebula say at once, their words laced with fear and loathing both.

“Don’t do anything stupid—" Tony starts. "And they’re off. Jesus.”

Tony watches, helpless, as Nebula and Gamora both make a run for it, slashing and jumping and killing on their vengeful path. Another flash of movement and Tony catches sight of Drax, roaring loudly and carving a path towards Thanos as well.

Great. Wonderful. Why even bother coming up with a plan when all the idiots just act on impulse in the first place.

He bites back an annoyed retort and focuses back on the battle, working perfectly with FRIDAY to keep an eye out on everyone and make sure their ground crew keeps the drones and missiles up and running and aiming at the proper targets.

Thanos is a formidable fighter, however, a golden gauntlet in one arm with three shiny stones in it which probably give him that much more power. He doesn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fighting, shrugging off his daughters’ attacks like their nothing, Drax’s too. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to be paying them any mind at all because he simply keeps walking forward with a purposeful stride.

A sense of danger greater than the one he’s been feeling the whole day puts Tony on high alert.

“Fri, where is Thanos headed?”

It takes her a millisecond that feels like an eternity before an estimated projected course is drawn on the holo screen.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Guys. Hey. So maybe we should get a few more people on big ugly ball face and try to stop him? And also, if the rest of you could get your asses over here stat, it’d be great, ‘cause the asshole is coming my way and there’s only one thing he wants.”

“On our way,” T’Challa says. FRIDAY highlights him on the screen and Tony watches him and the Valkyrie make their way over to Wanda and Vision who are intercepting Thanos as they speak.

“What’s the plan?” Loki’s silky voice has gone strained and FRIDAY zooms in on him, now fighting side by side with Thor. They’re magnificent to watch, fighting in tandem with a level of synchrony most duos couldn’t help to achieve in a lifetime.

It probably helps that their lifetimes are comprised of over a hundred humans ones.

“The plan was to stop Thanos _before_ he got to the stones,” Tony snaps, perfectly aware he’s being unfair and everyone is doing their best but the other army is simply too vast.

The most annoying part is that they’re not even that hard to kill. Not most of them, at least. But Thanos and his children are keeping most of their heavy hitters on their tippy-toes and it’s starting to take its toll.

Tony’s eyes scan the battlefield, FRIDAY helpfully highlighting their strongest fighters and their current positions.

“Alright, so here’s the deal,” he starts, and is quickly interrupted.

“Heads up!” Peter shouts. “Incoming Death Star about to crash land."

“What?”

On screen, Tony can see a bunch of explosions from various parts of the ship, undoubtedly Peter’s work. There’s a ruckus of voices across the coms, shouts and orders and cries for help. On the video feed, FRIDAY highlights the scene, a sudden frenzy of movement rushing from underneath the ship to wherever they can find cover. The enemy doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, which, good. Tony hopes they get crushed to smithereens.

“Peter, how’re you getting out?” Tony asks, eyes searching the ship for any sign of red or blue idiot swinging around.

“Uh… Working on it.”

“Peter, for fuck’s sake—”

“On my way, Tones,” comes Rhodey’s beautiful voice.

Tony, who was already taping on his bracelet without even thinking about it, breathes out a sigh of relief.

The fact that he brought his bracelets at all is something he’s not thinking too hard about. That he’s been wearing them for the past week non-stop bears thinking about even less.

“Hello, white people? What’s that?”

Tony spins around, searching for Shuri’s voice and quickly catching on to what she’d been pointing out.

Coming in from freaking space, there’s a bright burning ball of what looks like fire, a trail of blues and oranges left behind in its path.

“Carol!” Thor booms loudly, Tony’s ears ringing in the process. “We’re friends, do not worry. She’s human.”

“I didn’t know you had humans with fire powers,” Rocket says, sounding mildly interested.

Tony ignores their chatter and focuses on the images in front of him, heart in his throat. Carol — whoever she is — takes hold of the ship in her bare hands and _throws it over the freaking dunes_ where it proceeds to _explode_.

“Yeah, there’s no way she’s just human,” Scott quips.

Meanwhile, Tony is more worried about who was _in_ the ship before it got blown to pieces than what species their new ally belongs to.

He flicks his fingers at the holo projection, zooming in desperately to try to find a speck of brightness in the sky.

“Pete? Peter? Damn it, Pete, you better be fucking alive or I swear to—”

“Got him,” Rhodey says with a small huff, while Peter, the asshole, lets out a joyous whoop.

“I did it! I blew up the freaking Death Star!”

“You jumped out of a fucking exploding ship when you can’t even fly!” Tony yells, anger and relief clashing inside him and leaving him panting.

“I knew Rhodey would catch me,” Peter says, sounding entirely too carelessly confident for someone who refused to get repulsors on their suit because he can swing perfectly fine.

Tony swears loudly and profusely, enough that Steve isn’t the only one to complain.

“A little help would be nice,” T’Challa says dryly.

Tony turns again to watch him, Valkyrie, Wanda, Vision, and Hope— who keeps flicking out from wasp to human size — fighting Thanos. And loosing.

“Magic people. We need all the magic people over there,” Tony says, twirling around and seeing who’s closer. “Someone cut off that asshole’s arm, that thing is giving him way too much power. Hope look out!”

Too late. Hope gets punched in the face so hard when she’s zooming back to normal size that it nocks her out cold.

“Ground crew, send in the rescue drones.”

“On it, Iron Man.”

Tony doesn’t bother correcting the girl and saying he’s not Iron Man today. Or anymore.

Thanos throws another punch and Valkyrie is thrown up in the air. Tony’s breath hitches but she manages to catch a ride on a jet ski and then is off fighting more aliens. Which means two down on the Thanos front.

Tony is about to snap for another magic user again when Strange flies in with his coat billowing behind him and immediately joins the fray.

“Strange, what about one of those handy-dandy portals of yours? Can’t you send the big grape off somewhere else?”

“I’m trying but the Reality Stone seems to be keeping him tethered,” he grits out. On the projections, Tony sees flashes of light followed by red, burning ropes which latch onto Thanos’s arms and legs while T’Challa and Vision attempt to remove the gauntlet from him.

“Cut the fucking arm off!”

“Not exactly high on swords at the moment,” Strange snaps.

Tony looks desperately around, searching for Loki. He finds him fighting one to one with Maw while Thor is struggling to take down the other two of Thanos’ children.

“We need more—”

“Incoming,” Peter yells, releasing his web from Rhodey’s suit and jumping down onto Thanos’ shoulders.

Tony doesn’t really know what does it: The sight of Thanos shaking Peter off like a rag doll, Peter falling to the floor with a yelp, Strange’s fiery ropes snapping under Thanos’ strength — or maybe all of it.

Next thing he knows, he’s flying over the battlefield, repulsors shooting indiscriminately at the enemy soldiers on his path.

Flying. Tony’s flying. Which means he actually activated the suit and then took off — _flying —_ over the desert and the carnage and towards the one person who could always break past any of his barriers and reach that part of him that was so desperate for love.

“Welcome back, Iron Man,” Steve says warmly, voice filled with pride.

Tony doesn’t even have the wherewithal to reply, his only focus on _Peter Peter Peter_ , somewhere in that mass of bodies, possibly injured, fighting a goddamned alien warlord hellbent on killing them all.

He reaches them in no time at all and yet it feels like forever. From then, it’s all quite like a bizarre dream.

Peter is already up and fighting again, webbing Thanos wherever he can, trying fruitlessly to tie him up long enough for someone do get to the gauntlet now that Strange’s ropes have failed. Vision has disappeared, and Tony worries for a moment because he didn’t see what happened but considering Wanda is not wild with grief he assumes it wasn’t the worst.

Wanda is weaving her red magic around him which he seems to easily counter with the stones, red on purple clashing and then extinguishing. Strange is suddenly twelve Stranges, all hovering in the air with identical golden circles in their hands.

“Cool trick, doc,” Tony quips, flying in between a couple of Stranges and joining T’Challa in trying to relieve Thanos of his gauntlet.

Thanos lets out a sound, a mix between frustrated rage and amusement.

“You think you can beat me? You? You are insignificant, nothing, pathetic. I am Thanos. I will purify this world of vermin like you. I am inevitable.”

Peter jumps on Thanos’ other arm, holding it down on the floor with a heavy grunt and says, “Yeah, you’re doing that whole supervillain thing where they talk too much and then the heroes win in the end… Actually, keep doing that, yeah, tells us just how much stronger you are.”

The Stranges all focus their golden magic circle lights on the gauntlet while Wanda pulls all of her red magic into holding him in place.

Thanos roars, a deafening sound, and it’s so obvious that their makeshift prison won’t last for long, so clear just how strong he is. How powerful.

Tony makes a blade out of the nanobots and _cuts_.

For a moment — a heavy, dreadful moment — he doesn’t think it’ll work. Thinks that maybe Thanos is even stronger than he appears, that maybe the stones are lending him even more power. And maybe they are. But then he sees his blade light up with golden light, the magic warm in a way it has no right to be for such a deadly force, and then there’s suddenly red mixing in, swirling around the gold and the grey of the metal.

The hand drops to the floor, the gauntlet making a dull sound on impact.

Thanos’ scream is louder and angrier than seems possible.

For a beat, everyone is quiet. Then — chaos.

T’Challa catches the gauntlet — hand still in it, ew ew ew — and runs. Thanos rages, stump bleeding freely and tinting the sand with purple drops, the other arm slashing away at them, throwing wild punches and hitting indiscriminate targets.

Tony goes flying, a sucker punch to the gut that leaves him wheezing for air.

Peter jumps after him — _foolish_ , Tony starts to say, _don’t_ — and then is knocked back when Thanos grabs hold of his ankle and throws him over his shoulder.

Peter lands and doesn’t get back up immediately and Tony screams.

“Peter! Pete, get up. Come on, baby, the fight’s not over yet, we need you in sexy Spider-Man kicking ass form.”

Tony’s already up himself but there’s no way he can leave to check on Peter when Thanos has somehow gotten hold of his huge fucking double-edged sword and is now swiping it at them like a free for all Friday.

Wanda gets hit and falls to the floor with a cry, hand clutching her middle and blood already pouring out.

“FRIDAY, evac. Now.”

Strange is quicker, opening a portal and literally kicking her into it with a surge of powerful wind. He immediately closes it after her and gets back on with the fight.

“A little help, guys,” Tony says, jumping back into the fight and forming a shield to defend from Thanos’ blow. The impact of metal on metal leaves his ears ringing, his muscles aching. “New chick could probably pack a punch, huh?”

“I’m helping some cat dude get the gauntlet to safety,” an unfamiliar voice sounds over the coms.

“Hey, someone got you a com, welcome to the team. Carol, was it?”

“Yeah. Fury calls me Captain Marvel.”

“Are you a real captain, though? Cause Cap really isn’t, it’s just the title—”

“I thought you needed help, Stark,” Loki’s smooth voice interjects, only he actually sounds near and not just over the coms.

“My favorite Norse pain in the ass! Welcome to us versus ball sack face over here. We are currently doing not so great.” He flashes another stream of repulsor blasts then ducks when Thanos throws his sword at him. “Not cool, asshole.”

Loki joins the fight instantly, throwing daggers at Thanos which are swiftly swept aside. One nearly hits Tony but he tries not to take it personally.

“Stephen?” Loki asks, tone concerned but he doesn’t deviate his eyes from the target.

The cloak makes a dive for Thanos’ feet and Strange conjures up some vine ropes that spurt from the ground.

“I’m fine. Glad you’re here.”

“Aw, I live for cute reunions,” Tony says, Clint makes a gagging noise over the coms. Tony flies higher when Thanos cuts off the ropes and then slashes his sword in a wide swoop. “Speaking of, has anyone seen my husband?”

“Not… married… yet,” Peter says, sounding entirely too strained for Tony's peace of mind. “Ouch. Fuck… he’s strong.”

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief and refocuses on the battle one hundred percent.

“I’m not calling myself your boyfriend over the coms, Pete, not gonna happen. Plus, we’re totally married already.”

“Can we leave this conversation to some time other than when we’re fighting for our lives?” Strange snarks, a scary-looking spell which releases a dark green sort of fire flowing from his hands.

Thanos stomps on it like it’s nothing.

Loki releases a shout in frustration and hedges forward with a blade in each hand. Thanos catches him by the throat, pulling him up in the air and squeezing.

“Loki, dear. Did you think I’d forgotten about your betrayal?”

Loki’s feet flay around helplessly in the air, his breathing coming out in chocked, painfully sounding gasps.

Tony’s blade comes back and he flies over to cut off Thanos’ head this time. Strange aims his magic at Thanos’ hand, sweat dripping from his forehead, his face a mix of fury and panic.

Tony’s nano blade is a bust. It only makes the bastard bleed a bit, not nearly enough damage at all for Tony’s liking. What he does get is a raging Thanos who throws Loki at him to swat him away and then Tony falls to the sandy ground with about six hundred pounds of Norse god on top of him.

The air leaves his lungs with a wheeze. His leg… Tony doesn’t even want to think about it. The HUD is flashing bright red right over his injury, a sure sign of nothing good and certainly nothing he has the time to think about now.

“Loki? Lokes, buddy, you weigh about the same was a baby elephant.”

Loki pants his way out of Tony’s body, face red and blotchy, fingers tugging at his neck as if he still thinks there are hands around it. His breath is coming out is heaves and gasps and Tony is so concerned about the absolute panic in his eyes that he retracts his faceplate to have a good look at him.

He lays a comforting hand on Loki’s shoulder, squeezes just a little bit. “Alright?”

Loki’s eyes are wild with fear but he nods after a beat, a determined expression on his face when he catches sight of Strange fighting Thanos alone, both of them surrounded by some kind of weird mirror magic.

They get up with matching grunts, and then Tony’s leg just gives up on him and he falls back down with a cry.

Tony waves away Loki’s concern. “Go save your prince, I’m fine. I’ll just stick to the air now.”

Loki gives him a dubious look before he’s running off.

“Tony, what’s wrong?” Peter asks, panting. Tony hears weapons blasting and can imagine him in the middle of a fight, hopefully kicking ass and not the other way around.

“Oh, you know, just a little cramp, no big deal. We could use some help here, though, this guy does _not_ want to die.”

“I’m coming,” Thor booms. In the next moment there’s a flash of lightning and then Thor lands between Tony and Thanos and joins the fight beside his brother and — brother in law? Tony has no idea where those two are in their relationship.

Another burst of light, blue and orange this time, joins them.

“The stones?” Tony asks, “All safe?”

Carol nods before jumping into the fight, blue light surrounding Thanos as she punches him hard. The four of them together are a beauty to watch, but Tony soon decides he didn’t put his suit on for nothing and flies up into the air — not before putting his com on mute so he can scream with the impulse of taking off and not get frantic questions about it.

It has mixed results. His companions clearly heard him.

“Tony?

“Stark?”

“All good,” he says, nauseous and with sweat dribbling down his forehead, but his voice is steady which is all that matters. 

From then, everything is a blur once more.

Carol fights with them like they’ve all been training alongside each other for years, seamlessly taking cues and using opportunities before either of them have to tell her. Thor and Loki together are a force to be reckoned with, and Loki and Strange have an understanding than obviously runs deeper than words.

Tony hovers above them, taking advantage of every opening to deal blow after blow after blow. The bastard is impossibly strong, but even he gets tired eventually.

Finally, Tony and Carol manage to rid Thanos of his sword and hold his hand down. Strange and Loki hold him in place with their magic, green and gold combining much more intimately than it had with Wanda’s red. Tony doesn’t know if it’s his imagination but he really doesn’t think so. It’s almost as if their magic becomes one.

“Do it, Thor. End this, brother.”

Thor is all righteous fury and crackling bursts of static. And then he jumps up into the air, huge axe in hand, and falls down with all his strength and a flash of lighting which joins the axe just as it connects with Thanos’ neck.

His head rolls off towards Loki’s feet.

Everything then just… stops. For a beat, it feels like Strange finally decided to use that Time Stone of his and freeze everything in place. They’re all frozen in motion, breathing suspended, eyes unblinking.

Then, reality crashes and Tony is overwhelmed by a swooping feeling of complete relief.

“It’s done,” Strange says, a fierce look breaking through his solemn tone.

The coms go wild with questions.

“Done?”

“What do you mean done, what’s done?”

“Did you kill him?”

“Is he dead? Is Thanos dead?”

Thor’s eyes are fixed on the lifeless head, then he replies, “Thanos is dead.”

Loki and Strange release their magic and the rest of the body falls. Tony quickly lets go of the hand he hadn’t even realized he’d still been holding on to, almost as if expecting Thanos to act like a headless chicken and keep on kicking. Carol does the same, so at least he’s not the only one being overly cautious.

There’re cries of joy throughout the battlefield, echoing through the coms.

Their enemies, however, don’t seem to have gotten the message.

“Uh, guys? They’re all still fighting,” Clint says.

“Yeah— Hey!” Peter cries. “I’m sorry your dad is dead but that’s no reason to— Mother fuck—”

“Pete?”

“Yeah, all good, dude just doesn’t like to hear bad news, it seems. Also, he doesn’t care.”

“I don’t think any of them care,” Natasha pipes in.

“They only care about war and destruction,” Gamora says solemnly, “They will fight for my father’s ideals even after he is gone.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they believe he’s dead yet. Squid guy just told me to piss off and then threw a fucking whale at me,” Quill says.

“I will bring them his head,” Nebula says, sounding ferociously thrilled. And that’s definitely not an image Tony wants to have engraved in his brain.

“Let’s save that for later, blueberry. How about we finish the fight first.”

She grunts in response, but there’s no flash of blue in his eyesight so he takes it to mean that she’s stayed put.

Tony gets up to resume fighting when the ground calls to him with a vicious pull.

This time he does manage to contain his demonstration of pain, but only because he bites down on his lower lip and grits his teeth hard enough that he thinks they might just crack.

Strange takes one look at him and opens a portal to the Compound’s medbay.

“I’m tapping you out, Stark.”

“No, I—”

“You’re done, Tony,” he says, sounding much softer than Tony’s ever heard directed at him. There’s even a small, tired smile. “You did more than enough already, just go get that leg fixed up.”

Tony wants to argue, if only because now that he actually managed to get back in the suit he feels like he has to stick with it until the end.

And also, “Peter.”

Strange nods solemnly. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“So will I,” Loki says.

“And me,” Thor adds.

“I have no idea who Peter is, but yeah. I’ll keep an eye out for him too,” Carol says, and yes, Tony definitely likes her.

“You all do know I can hear you, right? And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Peter snarks from wherever he is.

“Of course you are, honey pie,” Tony says, laying it on thick.

“You, on the other hand, better get your ass to the doctor or otherwise I’ll be filing for a divorce as soon as this is over.”

Tony gasps playfully, gratefully accepting Thor’s help up. In the end, Thor has to physically carry him into the portal and drop him off on an empty bed.

“Thanks buddy,” he says to Thor, watching the portal close behind him. To Peter he says, “I thought we had to get married to get a divorce. If this is your way of proposing to me, Mr. Parker, then I’m going to have to reconsider this whole relationship.”

Peter’s warm laughter echoes in his ears and Tony lets himself lean back, retract the suit, and allow the doctors to fuss over him.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Stark, I know how to woo a man like you.”

Tony smiles like a loon even when they pull off his clothes and he gets a good look at his angry, bruised thigh.

* * *

He keeps the com on — although muted on his side — through Helen berating him about his carelessness, muttering about irresponsible and stubborn heroes, through her making a face as she examines him and then said face turning serious and somber when Tony starts complaining about the pain more vocally, which means that it’s definitely hurting like a bitch because he wanted to get this over and done with and one way to _not_ do that is by letting the doctor know just how badly he’s injured.

“Compartment syndrome,” Helen says, and then Tony swears loudly with feeling and is wheeled away to their little OR where they proceed to fucking cut his thigh with a scalpel to let all the blood out.

This part, luckily, he doesn’t feel. Thank fuck for anesthesia. Oh, he’s awake through all of it, of course, refusing to sleep when his team — when _Peter_ — is still fighting, even though it is all the way across the globe and he’s got no way to help.

All throughout, since his arrival until Tony is finally back in the recovery room, thigh bandaged loosely and unstitched, there’s a running commentary in his ear about the fight. Halfway through surgery, he puts on his glasses and tells FRIDAY to show him the live feed. It’s no 360º view, but it’s good enough. The fact that FRIDAY knows to focus most of it on Peter goes without saying.

Thanos’ children are as stubborn as Nebula had proclaimed them to be, and it seems as if finding out that Thanos is, indeed, dead has only made them more vicious. Tony directs FRIDAY and the ground crew with helping out as much as they can, sending out drones and coordinating their fighters to help with ending the fight.

In the end, Gamora and Nebula deal the killing stroke into Maw’s chest, each piercing a sword right through him. Bucky, fighting side to side with Hulk, manages to get one up on the bigger one of the other two and strikes him with a clean, precise shot. The last one falls at the hands of Natasha and Valkyrie.

After that, it seems to go much easier, with most of the regular foot soldiers managing on their own, the jets and Star Blasters handling the last of the straddlers and one stubbornly flying whale.

“Fri, headcount, please,” Tony murmurs quietly, head resting on an uncomfortable pillow and eyes closed.

She’s quiet for a beat, then, “No casualties amongst the Avengers. Ms. Maximoff is in recovery in Wakanda. The Guardians are also all accounted for. Two Asgardians are currently with the medics. The Dora Milaje have lost five members, the rest of the Wakandan army a dozen more. Three Star Blasters were shot down, I can only find one life sign. The other allies brought in by the Guardians have survived, seven are currently with the medics. Of our Earth troops, the French have lost twenty-seven…” She goes on, the number of dead and injured piling up.

It’s a tough blow, and Tony morns for each loss, but he knows that it’s no way near as much as it would’ve been had Thanos won. Not even close.

Still, these people died on his watch, while he was heading the armies, and their losses are a heavy burden to bear.

But they won. Unbelievably, they made it. Tony can barely wrap his head around it.

It feels like hours later when a portal opens in the medbay and in come his team — Avengers and Guardians alike. Tony’s still in bed, his leg bleeding sluggishly but thankfully _out_ rather than inside his fascia, and he’d called for Happy and Olive who are now sitting on a chair and laying curled up next to him, respectively.

Olive has fallen asleep at one point, after crying at the sight of Tony’s slightly mangled body and refusing to talk to him. Tony keeps his fingers on her hair, playing absently with her curls, longer every day since she refuses to have them cut.

The first one through the portal is Peter. Tony watches him with assessing eyes, takes in his bedraggled look, how he favors his left side, the wound that’s bleeding slowly from his arm, the cut on his cheek.

But alive, Tony tells himself. Safe.

Their eyes meet and Tony can see Peter do the exact same to him, taking in all the details, and then Peter leaps forward and is hugging him as gently as he can and kissing him softly, whispering words of relief and happiness and love — and Tony _breathes_. Finally.

Peter wipes a tear from his own cheek with a flush of embarrassment, chuckles weakly at himself, then rubs a hand over Olive’s back.

“Tired?”

“Cried herself to sleep,” Tony says ruefully. “She was not too happy about seeing…” he waves a hand over himself. Peter gets the picture.

“Yeah,” he says, mouth twisting a way which tells Tony how much he agrees with Olive. Tony gives him a pointed look and then Peter smiles crookedly. “Superhealing,” he says, “I’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Uh huh. Hey, Helen, my husband is being a dumbass. I have extra-strong restraints if you need help strapping him to a bed.”

“Still haven’t proposed to me,” Peter says, but he’s grinning like a lovestruck fool so Tony forgives him.

“You two are ridiculous,” Happy says, walking away after pressing a hand on Peter’s shoulder and giving him a look of relief. What a softie.

Helen looks up from where she’s patching up Natasha and gives Peter a once over.

“On the bed. Now. Carlos will be with you in a sec.”

Carlos, currently dealing with a very disgruntled Clint who is sporting a painfully looking dislocated shoulder, sighs audibly.

“I don’t know why I didn’t just stick with the regular patients,” he grumbles forlornly.

All of them laugh heartily, fully aware of how awful they all are as patients.

“Where’s Loki?” Valkyrie asks, eying the medical equipment with distrust and giving poor Jacquelyn a glare when she looked as if she was thinking about approaching her for treatment.

Valkyrie has a bruise on her temple which doesn’t look like nothing — especially considering she’s Asgardian and therefore sturdy as a horse — as well as an ankle that can definitely not support her at all. The only reason she’s still standing is that Carol has har arms around her and is giving her a very indulgent look.

Tony wonders if they’ve met before. Thor knew her, after all.

“My brother is helping Strange in the field, healing the worst of the fighters. His skills are greatly required.”

“That’s why a want him,” Valkyrie grumbles. Eventually, she relents to Carol’s cajoling and lies down on one of the beds.

Everyone seems to have some sort of injury with various degrees of urgency, but the overall mood is celebratory and soon enough there’s teasing and joking and laughter flowing around the room. The doctors and nurses look much happier, too, what with their patients no longer complaining every second.

Tony hangs on to Carlos’ every word as he assesses Peter and is relieved when he lets them know that he’ll be fine. He finishes up the last stitches on his arm and places a butterfly stitch on his cheek. Peter gives Tony a very satisfied smirk and receives a glare in return for his gall.

“I’m not taking any chances, Spideroo. Deal with it. And you’ll be dealing with me worrying for the rest of your life so better prepare yourself now.”

Peter’s lips curl teasingly. “I’m still not accepting that as a marriage proposal, just so you know. You can do better.”

Tony huffs playfully. “Damn right I can do better. I’ll do it so well you won’t even know what hit you.”

“Who says _I_ won’t do it even better?”

Tony gapes at him. “You could never! You can try, but you could never.”

“Mhmm. We’ll see.”

Tony sniffs snippily, bitting his lips to contain his grin. It’s useless in the end, and then it turns out that it’s infectious and Peter is grinning too, both of them holding hands over Olive’s sleeping form.

“No,” Drax protests loudly, finger pointed at them menacingly. “We have spoken about these things in public.”

“There are children here,” Rocket deadpans, helpfully pointing at Olive and Groot, currently very grumpy, arms stretched wide while Bruce takes a tweezer to his branches to dig out stray pieces of metal. Poor little guy, that must have hurt.

Tony flips them the bird and Peter simply rolls his eyes.

“Leave them be,” Gamora says.

Hellen has moved on to her now and Gamora has her frayed shirt ridden up and a painful-looking burn down her whole right side. Hellen makes a considering noise and then looks back up at Gamora.

“Do you have any special type of medicine for burns?” Gamora shakes her head and Hellen nods. “Let’s get you to the cradle, then, it’ll heal faster.”

“Will it work with her physiology?” Tony asks.

“No reason why not,” Hellen says. Gamora doesn’t look worried, though, so Tony lets it go, although the worry doesn’t leave him.

Gamora makes her way over them with a soft smile, lays her hand over Olive’s head for a second before pulling back.

“Don’t miss me too much. And take a look at Nebula when you can,” she adds with a meaningful look.

Tony nods, eyes searching the crowded room, and finds her sulking away in a corner with Mantis, holding onto what looks like an almost completely detached arm.

Tony looks at Peter and he nods, leaving without requiring an explanation. He’s back soon with a box of tools and then takes Olive in his arms and out of the medbay altogether.

Tony pats Peter’s free bed next to his. “Come on, blueberry, let me have a look. Doctor Tony is in the house.”

Clint makes a gagging noise. “Lame, dude.”

Tony cheerfully ignores him. Nebula reluctantly makes her way over, relying heavily on Mantis for support, which means it’s definitely not just the arm, and then sits down with a grunt.

It’s a bit of a hassle to get them all positioned properly and Carlos tries to chide them about Tony moving around so much when his leg is still literally cut open, but he just doesn’t have the whole intimidating look going on like Hellen does so Tony flashes him a grin and asks Rocket to come help a friend out.

The two of them work quickly and efficiently, replacing and rewiring broken and burnt circuity and making sure that they give her full mobility back and no pain.

“It’s not perfect yet,” Tony says when they’ve fixed the worst of the arm and the leg, which had been blasted with shrapnel from an explosion. “Tomorrow we’ll head to the lab with the proper tools and get you back as new, alright?”

Nebula nods sharply, but her face is no longer contorted in pain and she offers him a small smile so Tony grins back happily.

“We’re a good team,” he declares brightly.

“Family,” Nebula counters quietly.

Rocket sends him a look that says he’s an oblivious idiot, but Tony simply nods seriously and agrees.

“Family.”

* * *

Tony gets dragged back to surgery a few hours later, and this time he does relent to being put under general anesthesia while they stitch his thigh back up. Helen says they might have to try a skin graft which actually sounds kinda nice.

“That mean I’ll get my sexy un-holy leg back, doc?”

She rolls her eyes at his dopy smirk, and soon enough Tony is completely out.

When he wakes up, Peter has curled himself on the bed with him and is deeply asleep, one arm thrown over Tony’s stomach and the other under his own chin. Completely adorable, Tony thinks, like the love-struck idiot he is.

Recovery takes a while, for some more than others. The cradle works remarkably well for Gamora, and Wakanda’s technology is a marvel in the medical field as well which means Wanda is back at the Compound after only a few days.

Loki and Strange fall into a magically exhausted sleep — coma, almost — which goes for three whole days and has Thor frazzled with worry. Wong keeps reassuring them that it’s completely normal with how much they exerted themselves during and after the battle with healing as many people as they could. Who would’ve known, really, that Loki would one day be a hero in his own right?

Tony works on Nebula’s injuries when he’s allowed to leave the medbay — read: when Peter stops mother-henning him. Olive is thrilled when Nebula is fit enough again to run around after her and causing all kinds of mischief. Tony has to create extra protocols for FRIDAY because Nebula keeps hacking into her system and getting her to keep quiet about all the mayhem.

Tony couldn’t hide his amusement if he tried.

Eventually, everything goes back to its crazy normal. The alien allies return home, the Asgardians go back to New Asgard, the Earth’s armies all shake hands and then proceed to go back to loudly intimidating each other.

Even the Guardians leave after a month, forever nomads and itching for more heroing across the galaxy. Tony hates seeing them go, but he knows they’ll be back and there’s always their weekly calls. Olive cries this time, which breaks Tony’s heart, but she sleeps in her own bed that night with only her little not-a-dinosaur plushy for company.

So, progress. For all of them.

Then it’s just the three of them in their home and the coin finally drops.

“Holy shit, we saved the universe,” Tony says, voice filled with a giddy sort of wonder.

Peter and he are lying on the couch, Olive finally asleep in her room after a long day of playing with Bucky and Natasha in the morning— a fair price to pay for a fresh batch of cookies — followed by an afternoon with her parents in the park. There’s some movie or another playing in the background. Peter seems very into it but Tony had just been tinkering with a new spider-themed drone to help with Peter’s patrols until the reality of the situation finally clicked.

Peter makes a sound but doesn’t pull his eyes away from the screen. Tony turns to him, catches him fully engrossed in what he now realizes is Coco, and then pokes Peter’s thigh with his toes, a fond smile on his face.

What an adorable dork he’s fallen in love with.

Peter digs into the bowl on his lap and fills his mouth with a handful of popcorn like the heathen he is.

“Hm?”

Tony chuckles, pokes his feet around until Peter relocates the bowl and accepts Tony’s legs on him. He gives Tony a mild sound of complaint before absently starting to massage Tony’s thigh.

Tony sighs, a mix of pain and relief both, and falls back on the couch more comfortably, burrowing into the soft cushions with his eyes closed.

The leg is not great. Not as bad as it had been at first, or as it could be, but worse than it had been before the battle, and Tony knows now for certain that he will probably never put on the Iron Man suit again. At least not for big fights.

It’s okay, he thinks. He’s had his run — and what a run it’s been — and he’s ready to lay back and let the younger ones take the lead.

Will he miss it? Of course. Probably not as much as he once would’ve, not with his life feeling so full now.

And also, he tells himself, he’s not completely out of commission. He can still put on the suit and fly around, weaving daring patterns through the skyrises of Manhattan, probably help rescue a cat or two up a tree, maybe even a kid from a burning building. But the actual fighting is most certainly not an option anymore, and he finds that… acceptable. It’s an acceptable trade-off for saving the universe, in his view.

And they did do that. Holy fuck, they really did save the universe.

He’s known it, obviously, but somehow it’s not until just now — after everyone has gone back to their regular lives, after everyone has recovered from their injuries as best they can, after they’ve spent the whole day playing with their kid, taking her to the park, eating hot dogs and ice cream from suspicious-looking food trucks — only now has it truly sunk in.

They did it. They won. And they have their whole lives ahead of them without the weight of such a monumental disaster lying heavy on their souls.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony fits himself saying, words slipping out of his mouth without a thought. “Will you marry me?”

That seems to do it.

Peter doesn’t seem to have heard him at first, still too distracted watching the shenanigans of the spirits during the Dia de los Muertos, but then he freezes, popcorn halfway to his mouth, and turns around to look at Tony with rapidly blinking eyes.

“Um, what?”

Tony, who hadn’t even realized what he was saying as he said it, suddenly feels a warm sort of calm spread through him. Love, he thinks, it’s love. He has everything he needs, everything he wants, the only thing that could make it better is a piece of paper to make it official.

He doesn’t need a big proposal, he realizes, and he doesn’t think Peter does either. They’d joked about it constantly but, in the end, they both know what they want, both know that they’re in this for good, that this little family they’ve built is real and theirs and perfect.

So he smiles, a slow building kind of smile which starts from his lips and ends all the way in his chest and asks again.

“Marry me?”

Peter jumps on him — careful with the leg, always so — popcorn flying all over the place, and brings their lips together in a kiss which leaves Tony panting and hungry for more, heart yelling joyfully through his ribs for everyone to hear that he is _happy_. 

Tony sucks on Peter’s lips, tongue, bites him softly and then a bit harder, the neediness building up. He moves to Peter’s jaw, sucking a pattern of bruises from there down his neck, taking the opportunity to pull off Peter’s t-shirt in the process.

Peter shucks off his sweat pants in one fluid move and then he’s lying naked on top of Tony, body pressing against his sinfully, hips undulating maddeningly. Tony is hard before he realizes it and he’s still clothed.

“This is when magic comes in handy,” he mutters, because Peter is doing things to him and Tony doesn’t have the flexibility or the full integrity of his limbs to help him get rid of his clothes with such ease.

Peter chuckles into Tony’s neck, biting down hard and then sucking. Tony gasps, hands clutching at Peter’s hips and pressing them down against him.

Peter sits up, a beautiful grin on his lips, and helps Tony out of his t-shirt and pajama pants with the kind of tenderness that makes him melt just a little bit.

Then he pushes Tony’s chest back down with just a bit of that spider strenght and Tony melts for a whole different reason.

Peter’s grin turns predatory.

Tony watches as Peter leans down, ghosts his lips over Tony’s but doesn’t allow for more pressure, does the same over Tony’s neck and chest. Then the licks Tony’s nipples, nibbling just this side of painful, and Tony’s hips buck up of their own accord.

“Fuck.”

“Hm. Soon,” Peter counters, all salacious smirks and teasing tongue.

Tony thinks he’s trying to drive him mad and will gladly follow without a fight.

Peter’s mouth moves lower, kissing and licking and biting its way over Tony’s stomach, then his hip bones, and then his legs, and then finally, finally, Peter licks a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip before sucking him in without any kind of extra waning.

Tony lets out a list of expletives which has Peter snorting out a laugh _while still sucking him_. Tony is definitely going mad.

He gets a hold on Peter’s hair, pulling on it just to the limit of how Peter likes it, directing his head up and down to match his hips. Fuck, Peter’s mouth is incredible. Tony tells him as such, showers him in compliments and words of love which results in Peter getting even more into it, hard cock dripping against Tony’s leg.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last too long if you keep this up.”

Peter pulls up just enough to smile mischievously and then resumes sucking the life out of him. Tony grunts loudly and then remembers that maybe they should try to keep it down if they don’t want to get interrupted.

“You’re killing me, Pete, fuck. Fuck, yeah, keep going, babe, just like that.”

Then Peter, the absolute sadistic asshole that he is, pulls off with an obscene pop and gives Tony a bright smile.

Tony sputters and gapes and is about to complain about the unfairness of the situation when Peter kisses him passionately and then whispers in his ear.

“I want you inside me.”

And yeah, okay, Tony is definitely on board with that. Peter’s winning smirk says he knew it too.

They make it upstairs in record time, with Peter carrying Tony bridal-style and Tony only laughing about it, secretly thankful that he won’t have to take the stairs — it was a long day, Olive had them on their tippy-toes the whole time.

Then Peter deposits him on the bed — gentle, always so —, pulls out the lube from the night-stand, and proceeds to move on him like a jaguar about to catch its prey.

Tony pulls him into a fierce kiss, eager to turn the tables around, and nudges Peter until he’s sitting on Tony’s chest, knees bent on either side of his head. Now it’s Tony’s turn to grin at him smugly while Peter is all wide eyes and parted lips, fingers playing with his nipples.

Tony grabs him by his hips and pulls, sucking him in in one go. The sounds Peter makes could very nearly make him come on the spot. Tony gabs for the lube blindly, opening it up with expert fingers and then using a lube-coated finger to tease Peter, opening him up so slowly that it starts to drive Peter wild.

Peter rolls his hips, snaps them up and down, chasing those fingers. Tony holds until the last moment, then slips two fingers firmly and watches as Peter’s mouth parts with a gasp, Peter’s cock twitching in his mouth as he comes.

Tony’s smile turns very smug indeed then, and he keeps his fingers inside, gentler this time not to overstimulate, and waits until Peter is hard again.

“You’re evil,” Peter says, eyes hazy with lust.

He drags himself down, coats Tony’s cock with lube, and then sinks down in one go. Tony wonders who the evil one of them is when he has to bite his lip and hold Peter’s hips in place so he doesn’t just come like it’s his first time.

Peter’s smirk says it all, the little asshole. Tony pulls him down by his neck, kisses him again, fiery kisses which turn slowly more languid, more intimate. His hips move up and down in gentle strokes, Peter matching his every more, lips still connected.

At one point, the pleasure becomes too great and Tony leaves Peter’s lips in favor of his neck, using it to muffle his moans in between bites and kisses. His hands stay on Peter’s hips, holding him tight as if he can make them meld together with that gesture, urging Peter to keep moving with him, keep chasing that same high.

“I love you,” Peter whispers, voice low and husky right in Tony’s ear, and Tony takes his hand to Peter’s cock and makes them come together with matching grunts.

Peter falls on top of him, boneless and sticky and absolutely perfect, placing a procession of kisses wherever he can reach. Tony cradles his neck with one hand, catching his breath, the other still holding firm onto Peter’s hips.

“I love you too, Pete. You’re the love of my life.”

It feels ridiculous to say, him, fifty-fucking-three years old telling a twenty-two-year-old that. It’s ridiculous and it’s unfair because he will die before Peter, long before if he has any say about it, there are no two ways about it. And yet that idea doesn’t bother him anymore. They love each other and they have a family together, and they will make the most of it for as long as they’ve got.

Peter pushes back on his elbows, seems to catch the tone in Tony’s voice, runs a couple of fingers over Tony’s hair with the softest smile ever.

“Yes,” he says, sure and firm and full of promises. “I’ll marry you.”

Tony takes a second to process, blinking at him in shock, and then the smile that consumes him, burning from the inside out, is probably enough to light the whole block on fire.

“You know,” Peter starts with that cheeky casualness which promises mischief. “About time you popped the question.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony quirks an amused eyebrow, waiting for the punch line.

Peter nods seriously. “Yup. Cap has been hammering away about how unseemly it is to have a child out of wedlock. Apparently, it doesn’t go with his all-American 40s values.”

“It wouldn’t.”

“Right. And also, are you aware of how popular Spider-Man has become?” Tony’s eyebrow rises again and Peter gives him a smug look. “Almost Iron Man levels, I tell you. As in, I regularly receive marriage proposals whenever I swoop someone off their feet. So really, about time you decided to put a ring on it.”

Tony breaks out in a peal of laughter, light and completely joyful, and Peter’s smile grows and grows until it looks like it might just get permanently fixed that way.

Tony’s okay with that, he thinks, as long as he gets to be right next to him for all those happy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, I hope you enjoyed the journey as well as the ending <3


End file.
